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Marie  Corelli's  Novels 

the  murder  of  delicia 

l2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25 

THE  MIGHTY  ATOM 
i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents;   Cloth,  gi. 25 

CAMEOS 
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VENDETTA 

OR,   THE  STORY   OF   ONE   FORGOTTEN 
i2mo.     Cloth,  gi.oo 

BARABBAS 

A    DREAM    OP   THE   WORLd's   TRAGEDY 

i2mo.     Cloth,  Ji.oo 
THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

OR,    THE      STRANGE      EXPERIENCE      OF      ONE 
GEOFFREY    TEMPEST,    MILLIONAIRE 

With  Frontispiece  by   I 'an  Schaick 
i2mo.     Cloth,  Ji. 50 

"  Marie  Corelli  has  many  remarkable  quali- 
ties as  a  writer  of  fiction.  Her  style  is 
singularly  clear  and  alert,  and  she  is  the 
most  independent  of  thinkers  and  authors 
of  fiction;  but  her  principal  gift  is  an  imag- 
ination which  rises  on  a  bold  and  easy  wing 
to  the  highest  heaven  of  invention." — 
Boston  Home  Journal 


PUBI^ISHBRS'  NOTB 


This  New  Story  is  the  longest  and 
most  important  work  by  MISS 
CORBl>l,I  published  sinee  the 
"Sorrows  of  Satan" 


BOY 

A   SKETCH 


BY 


MARIE  CORELLI 

AUTHOR     OF     "THE    SORROWS    OF    SATAN,' 
"BARABBAS,"     ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

1900 


Copyright,  1900 

BY 

J.  B.  Lii'PiNCOTT  Company 


ELECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADEUPHI*.  U.8.» 


4^04- 
:B69 


TO  MY  DEAREST 
FRIEND    IN    THE    WORLD 

BERTHA    VYVER 

WHO  HAS  KNOWN  ALL  MY 
LIFE  FROM  CHILDHOOD 
AND  HAS  BEEN  THE 
WITNESS  OF  MY  WORK 
FROM  THE  BEGINNING 
THIS  SIMPLE  STORY 
IS  GRATEFULLY  AND 
LOVINGLY    DEDICATED 


BOY:   A  SKETCH 

CHAPTER    I. 

It  is  said  by  many  people  who  are  supposed  to 
"  know  things"  that  our  life  is  frequently,  if  not 
always,  influenced  by  the  first  impressions  we  our- 
selves receive  of  its  value  or  worthlesness.  Some 
folks,  assuming  to  be  wiser  even  than  the  wisest, 
go  so  far  as  to  afiirm  that  if  you,  while  still  an  in- 
fant in  long  clothes,  happen  to  take  a  disgust  to  the 
manner  and  customs  of  your  parents,  you  will  in- 
evitably be  disgusted  at  most  events  and  persons 
throughout  the  remainder  of  your  earthly  pilgrim- 
age. If  any  truth  exists  in  such  a  statement,  then 
"  Boy"  had  excellent  cause  to  be  profoundly  dis- 
appointed in  his  prospects  at  a  very  early  outset 
of  his  career.  He  sat  in  what  is  sometimes  called 
a  "  feeding-chair,"  wedged  in  by  a  bar  which 
guarded  him  from  falling  forward  or  tumbling 
out  upon  the  floor,  and  the  said  bar  was  provided 
with  an  ingenious  piece  of  wood,  which  was  par- 
tially hollowed  out  in  such  wise  as  to  keep  him 
firm  by  his  fat  waist,  as  well  as  to  provide  a  resting 
place  for  the  plateful  of'  bread-and-milk  which  he 
was  enjoying  as  much  as  circumstances  would  per- 
mit him  to  enjoy  anything.  Every  now  and  then 
he  beat   the   plate   solemnly   with   his   spoon,   as 

9 


BOY. 

though  improvising  a  barbaric  melody  on  a  new 
sort  of  tom-tom,  and,  lifting  a  pair  of  large,  an- 
gelic blue  eyes  upward,  till  their  limpid  light 
seemed  to  meet  and  mix  with  the  gold-glint  of  his 
tangled  curls,  he  murmured,  pathetically, — 

"  Oh,  Poo  Sing!    Does  'oo  feels  ill?    Does  'oo 
feels  bad?    Oh,  Poo  Sing!" 

Now  "  Poo  Sing"  was  not  a  Japanese  toy,  or  a 
doll,  or  a  bird,  or  any  innocent  object  of  a  kind 
to  attract  a  three-year-old  child's  fancy;  "Poo 
Sing"  was  nothing  but  a  Man,  and  a  disreputable 
creature  even  at  that.  "  Poo  Sing"  was  Boy's 
father,  and  "  Poo  Sing"  was  for  the  moment — to 
put  it  quite  mildly — blind  drunk.  "  Poo  Sing"  had 
taken  his  coat  and  waistcoat  off,  and  had  pulled  out 
the  ends  of  his  shirt  in  a  graceful  white  festoon  all 
round  the  waistband  of  his  trousers.  "  Poo  Sing" 
had  also  apparently  done  some  hard  combing  to  his 
hair,  for  the  bulk  of  it  stood  somewhat  up  on  end, 
and  a  few  grizzled  and  wiry  locks  strayed  in  dis- 
orderly fashion  across  his  inflamed  nose  and  puffy 
eyelids,  this  effect  emphasising  the  already  half- 
foolish,  half-infuriated  expression  of  his  face. 
"  Poo  Sing"  staggered  to  and  fro,  his  heavy  body 
scarcely  seeming  to  belong  to  his  uncertain  legs, 
and  between  sundry  attacks  of  hiccough  he  trolled 
out  scraps  of  song,  now  high,  now  low,  sometimes 
in  a  quavering  falsetto,  sometimes  in  a  threatening 
bass;  while  Boy  listened  to  him  wonderingly,  and 
regarded  his  divers  antics  over  the  bar  of  the 
"  feeding-chair"  with  serious  compassion,  the  dul- 

lO 


BOY. 

cet  murmur  of  "Does  'oo  feels  bad,  Poo  Sing!" 
recurring  at  intervals  between  mouthfuls  of  bread- 
and-milk  and  the  rhythmic  beat  of  the  spoon. 
They  were  a  strangely  assorted  couple, — Boy  and 
"  Poo  Sing," — albeit  they  were  father  and  son. 
Boy,  with  his  fair,  round  visage  and  bright  halo  of 
hair,  looked  more  like  a  child-angel  than  a  mortal, 
and  "  Poo  Sing,"  in  his  then  condition,  resembled 
no  known  beast  upon  earth,  since  no  beast  ever  gets 
voluntarily  drunk  save  Man.  Yet  it  must  not  for 
a  moment  be  imagined  that  "  Poo  Sing"  was  not 
a  gentleman.  Pie  was  a  gentleman, — most  dis- 
tinctly, most  emphatically.  He  would  have  told 
you  so  himself,  had  you  presumed  to  doubt  it, 
with  any  amount  of  oaths  to  emphasise  the  fact. 
He  would  have  spluttered  at  you  somewhat  in  the 
following  terms, — 

"  My  father  was  a  gentleman, — and  my  grand- 
father v/as  a  gentleman, — and  my  great  grand- 
father was  a  gentleman, — and,  d — n  you,  sir, 
our  people  were  all  gentlemen,  every  sanguinary 
man-jack  of  them,  back  to  the  twelfth  century! 
No  tommy-rot  with  me!  None  of  your  mean, 
skulking,  money-grubbing  Yankee  millionaires  in 
our  lot!  Why,  you  d — d  rascal!  Call  me  a  gen- 
tleman!— I  should  pretty  much  think  so!  I  am 
a  D'Arcy-Muir, — and  I  have  the  blood  of  kings 
in  my  veins, — d — n  you !" 

Gentleman !  I  should  think  he  was  a  gentleman ! 
His  language  proved  it!  And  his  language  was 
the   first    lesson    in    English    that    Boy    received, 

II 


BOY. 

though  he  was  not  aware  of  its  full  significance. 
So  that  when,  two  or  three  years  later  on,  Boy 
cried  out  "  D — n  rascal  papa !"  quite  suddenly  and 
vociferously,  he  had  no  consciousness  of  saying 
anything  that  was  not  the  height  of  filial  tender- 
ness and  politeness.  To  be  a  D'Arcy-Muir  meant 
to  be  the  descendant  of  a  long  line  of  knights  and 
noblemen  who  had  once  upon  a  time  possessed 
huge  castles  with  deep  dungeons,  where  serfs  and 
close  kindred  could  be  conveniently  imprisoned 
and  murdered  at  leisure  without  distinction  as  to 
character  or  quality; — knights  and  noblemen  who 
some  generations  onward  were  transformed  into 
"  six-bottle  men"  who  thought  it  seemly  to  roll 
under  their  dining-tables  dead  drunk  every  even- 
ing, and  who,  having  merged  themselves  and  their 
"  blue  blood"  into  this  present  nineteenth-century 
Captain  the  Honourable  James  D'Arcy-Muir,  the 
father  of  Boy,  were,  we  must  suppose,  in  their  con- 
dition of  departed  spirits,  perfectly  satisfied  that 
they  had  bestowed  a  blessing  upon  the  world  by 
the  careful  production  of  such  a  "  gentleman"  and 
Christian. 

Captain  the  Honourable,  mindful  of  his  race  and 
breeding,  took  care  to  marry  a  lady  whose  ancestry 
was  only  just  in  a  slight  degree  lower  than  his 
own.  She  could  not  trace  her  lineage  back  to  the 
twelfth  century,  still,  she  came  of  what  is  some- 
times called  a  good  old  stock,  and  she  was  hand- 
some enough  as  a  girl,  though  always  large,  lazy, 
and  unintelligent.     Indolence  was  her  chief  char- 

12 


BOY. 

acteristic, — she  hated  any  sort  of  trouble.  She 
only  washed  herself  under  protest,  as  a  sort  of 
concession  to  the  civilisation  of  the  day.  She  had 
been  gifted  with  an  abundance  of  beautiful  hair, 
of  a  somewhat  coarse  texture,  yet  rich  in  colour 
and  naturally  curly, — it  was  "  a  nuisance,"  she 
averred, — and  as  soon  as  she  married  she  cut  it 
short,  "  to  save  the  bother  of  doing  it  in  the  morn- 
ing," as  she  herself  stated.  Until  she  had  secured 
a  husband,  she  had  complied  sufficiently  with  the 
rules  of  society  to  keep  herself  tidily  dressed;  but 
both  before  and  after  her  boy  was  born  she  easily 
relapsed  into  the  slovenly  condition  which  she  con- 
sidered "  comfort,"  and  which  was  her  habitual 
nature.  Truth  to  tell,  she  had  no  incentive  or 
ambition  to  appear  at  her  best.  She  had  not  been 
married  to  Captain  the  Honourable  D'Arcy-Muir 
one  week  before  she  discovered  his  partiality  for 
strong  drink,  and  being  far  too  lymphatic  to  urge 
resistance,  she  sank  into  a  state  of  passive  resigna- 
tion to  circumstances.  What  was  the  good  of  a 
pretty  toilette"? — her  husband  never  noticed  how 
she  dressed;  whether  she  wore  satin  or  sackcloth 
was  a  matter  of  equal  indifference  to  him ;  so, 
finding  that  a  short  skirt  and  loose-fitting  blouse 
formed  a  comfortable  sort  of  "  get-about"  costume 
she  adopted  it,  and  stuck  to  it  morning,  noon,  and 
night.  Always  inclined  to  embonpoint,  she  man- 
aged to  get  positively  stout  in  a  very  short  time; 
and  chancing  to  read  in  a  journal  an  article  on 
"  hygiene"  which  eloquently  proved  that  corsets 

13 


BOY. 

were  harmful  and  really  dangerous  to  health,  she 
decided  to  do  without  them.  So  that  by  the  time 
Boy  was  three  years  old,  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir,  in  her 
continual  study  of  personal  ease,  had  developed  a 
loose,  floppy  sort  of  figure,  which  the  easy-fitting 
blouse  covered  but  did  not  disguise;  to  save  all 
possibility  of  corns  she  encased  her  somewhat 
large  feet  in  soft  felt  slippers,  swept  the  short  hair 
from  off  her  brows,  did  without  collars  and  cuffs, 
and  "managed"  her  small  house  in  Hereford 
Square  in  her  own  fashion,  which  "  managing" 
meant  having  everything  at  sixes  and  sevens, 
meals  served  at  all  hours,  and  a  general  prepara- 
tion for  the  gradual  destruction  of  Boy's  digestion 
by  giving  him  his  bread-and-milk  and  other  nour- 
ishment at  moments  when  he  least  expected  it. 

Thus  it  may  be  conceded,  by  those  who  know 
anything  about  married  life  and  housekeeping,  that 
Boy  began  his  career  among  curious  surroundings. 
From  his  "  feeding-chair"  he  saw  strange  sights, 
— sights  which  often  puzzled  him  and  caused  him 
to  beat  monotonous  time  with  his  baton-spoon  in 
order  to  distract  his  little  brain.  Two  large,  loom- 
ing figures  occupied  his  horizon — "  Muzzy"  and 
"  Poo  Sing."  "  Muzzy"  was  the  easy-going  stout 
lady  with  the  felt  slippers,  who  gave  him  his  bread- 
and-milk  and  said  he  was  her  boy ;  "  Poo  Sing" 
was,  in  the  few  tranquil  moments  of  his  existence, 
understood  to  be  "  Dads"  or  "  Papa."  Boy  some- 
how could  never  call  him  either  "  Dads"  or  "  Papa" 
when  he  was  seized  by  his  staggering  fits;    such 

14 


BOY. 

terms  were  not  sufficiently  compassionate  for  an 
unfortunate  gentleman  who  was  subject  to  a  mal- 
ady which  would  not  allow  him  to  keep  steady 
on  his  feet  without  clutching  at  the  sideboard  or 
the  mantel-piece.  Boy  had  been  told  by  "  Muzzy" 
that  when  "  Papa"  rolled  about  the  room  he  was 
"  very  ill," — and  the  most  eloquent  language  could 
not  fittingly  describe  the  innocent  and  tender  emo- 
tions of  pity  in  Boy's  mind  when  he  beheld  the 
progenitor  of  his  being  thus  cruelly  afflicted! 
Were  it  possible  to  touch  a  drunkard's  heart  in 
the  mid-career  of  his  drunkenness,  then  the  gentle 
murmur  of  "Poo  Sing!"  from  the  fresh,  rosy 
lips  of  a  little  child,  and  that  child  his  own  son, 
might  have  moved  to  a  sense  of  uneasy  shame  and 
remorse  the  particular  tough  and  fibrous  nature 
of  Captain  the  Honourable  D'Arcy-Muir.  But 
Captain  the  Honourable  was  of  that  ancient  and 
noble  birth  which  may  be  seen  asserting  itself  in 
rowdy  theatre-parties  at  restaurants  in  Piccadilly, 
and  he,  with  the  rest  of  his  distinguished  set,  said 
openly,  "D — n  sentiment!"  As  for  any  sacred- 
ness  in  the  life  of  a  child,  or  any  idea  of  grave  re- 
sponsibility resting  upon  him  as  a  father  for  that 
child's  future,  such  primitive  notions  never  oc- 
curred to  him.  Sometimes  when  Boy  stared  at  him 
very  persistently  with  solemnly  enquiring  grave 
blue  eyes,  he  would  become  suddenly  and  violently 
irritated,  and  would  demand,  "  What  is  the  little 
beggar  staring  at?  Looks  like  a  d — d  idiot!" 
Then,  pouring  more  whiskey  out  of  the  ever- 
15 


BOY. 

present  bottle  into  the  ever-present  glass,  he  would 
yell  to  his  wife,  "  See  here,  old  woman,  this  child 
is  going  to  be  an  infernal  idiot !  A  regular  water- 
on-the-brain  knock-down  idiot!  Staring  at  me 
for  all  the  world  as  if  I  were  a  gorilla !  He's  over- 
fed,— that's  what's  the  matter !  Guzzling  on  bread- 
and-milk  till  he  can't  get  a  drop  more  down.  Never 
saw  such  a  d — d  little  pig  in  all  my  d — d  life!" 

Thus  would  this  gentleman  of  irreproachable 
descent  bawl  forth, — the  while  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir, 
provokingly  passive,  irritatingly  flabby,  and  indo- 
lently inert,  preserved  a  discreet  silence.  Such 
behaviour  on  her  husband's  part  was  of  daily  oc- 
currence,— she  "  knew  James's  little  ways,"  she 
would  remark  to  any  sympathising  friends  who 
chanced  to  discourse  with  her  on  the  delicate  and 
honeyed  bliss  of  her  matrimonial  life.  "  Why  did 
you  marry  him?"  was  the  question  often  asked 
of  her,  whereat  she  would  answer,  betwixt  a  sigh 
and  a  yawn,  "  Really  I  don't  know !  He  seemed 
quite  as  decent  as  most  men,  and  he  belongs  to  a 
splendid  family."  "  Did  you  ever  love  him?"  was 
another  query  once  put  to  her  by  a  daring  inter- 
locutor inclined  rather  to  romance  than  reality. 
Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  looked  politely  surprised. 

"  Love !  Oh,  I  don't  think  that  had  very  much 
to  do  with  it,"  she  said.  "  One  doesn't  think  about 
love  after  one  is  fifteen  or  sixteen.  That's  all 
goosey-goosey-gander,  you  know!" 

And  a  placid  smile  of  superior  wisdom  lit  up  her 
fat  face  as  she  thus  clenched  the  would-be  heart- 

i6 


BOY. 

searching  enquiries  of  the  mere  sentimentaHst. 
Because,  after  all,  as  she  argued,  if  Jim  would  get 
drunk,  it  was  no  use  attempting  to  thwart  him, — 
he  was  master  of  himself  and  of  his  own  actions. 
When,  after  a  good  heavy  bout  of  it,  he  was  laid 
up  in  bed  with  a  galloping  pulse,  throbbing  veins, 
parched  tongue,  and  a  half-crazed  brain,  that  also 
was  no  business  of  hers.  She  had  made  no  attempt 
to  either  restrain  or  guide  him,  because  she  knew 
it  was  no  use  trying  to  do  either.  If  he  did  not 
drink  in  the  house,  he  would  drink  outside  the 
house ;  if  he  did  not  drink  openly,  he  would  drink 
on  the  sly;  few  men  ever  took  a  woman's  advice 
for  their  good,  though  they  would  take  all  women's 
recommendations  to  the  bad.  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir 
was  perfectly  aware  of  this  peculiar  code  of  man's 
morals,  as  also  of  the  strange  limitations  of  man's 
logic,  and,  knowing  these  things,  was  content  to 
make  herself  as  bodily  comfortable  as  she  could, 
and  let  other  matters  go  as  an  untoward  fate  or- 
dained. Thus  it  happened  that  it  was  only  Boy 
who  really  thought  at  all  seriously  concerning  the 
puzzle  of  existence.  Boy,  whose  proper  Christian 
name  was  Robert,  seemed  nearly  always  preoccu- 
pied about  something  or  other.  Judging  by  the 
generally  wistful  expression  of  his  small  features, 
it  might  be  presumed  that  he  had  memories. 
Probably  most  children  have,  though  they  are  in- 
capable of  expressing  them.  The  enormous  gulf 
of  difference  between  the  very  young  and  their 
elders  exists  not  only  on  account  of  the  disparity 

2  17 


BOY. 

in  years,  but  also  because  the  elders  have  retained, 
for  the  most  part,  nothing  more  on  their  minds 
than. the  quickly  crowding  and  vanishing  impres- 
sions of  this  present  world,  while  the  children  are, 
we  may  imagine,  busy  with  vague  recollections 
of  something  better  than  the  immediate  condition 
of  things, — recollections  which  occasionally  move 
them  to  wonder  why  their  surroundings  have  be- 
come so  suddenly  and  strangely  altered.  It  is 
impossible  not  to  see  in  the  eyes  of  many  of  these 
little  human  creatures  a  look  of  infinite  perplexity, 
sorrow,  and  enquiry, — a  look  which  gradually  fades 
away  as  they  grow  older  and  more  accustomed  to 
the  ordinary  commonplace  business  of  natural  ex- 
istence, while  the  delicate  and  dim  memories  of 
the  Soul  in  a  former  state  wax  faint  and  indistinct, 
never  to  recur  again,  perhaps,  till  death  re-flashes 
them  on  the  interior  sight  with  the  repeated  and 
everlasting  assurance  that  "  here  is  not  our  rest." 
Boy  had  thoughts  of  the  past,  though  none  of  the 
future;  he  was  quite  sure  that  all  was  not  for- 
merly as  it  appeared  to  him  now;  that  there  was 
a  time,  set  far  away  among  rainbow  eternities, 
when  "  Muzzy"  and  "  Poo  Sing"  were  non  est, — 
when,  indeed,  "  Muzzy"  and  "  Poo  Sing"  would 
have  seemed  the  wildest  incoherences  and  maddest 
impossibilities.  How  it  chanced  that  the  rainbow 
eternities  had  dispersed  for  a  while, — had  rolled 
back  as  it  were  into  space,  and  allowed  the  strange 
spectacle  of  "  Muzzy"  and  "  Poo  Sing"  to  inter- 
vene,— was  more  than   Boy  could   explain,   con- 

i8 


BOY. 

sciously  or  unconsciously.  But  he  was  certain  he 
had  not  always  known  these  two  now  apparently 
necessary  personages,  and  he  was  equally  certain 
he  had  known  some  sort  of  beings  infinitely  more 
interesting  than  they  could  ever  be.  Fully  im- 
pressed by  this  inward  conviction,  he  often  dwelt 
upon  it  in  his  own  mind, — and  this  it  was  that 
gave  him  the  lovely,  far-away  look  in  his  dreamy 
blue  eyes,  the  tender  little  quivering  smile  on  his 
rosy  mouth,  and  the  whole  serene  and  wise  ex- 
pression of  his  fair  and  chubby  countenance. 
Only  three  years  old  as  he  was,  it  was  evident  that 
he  had  the  intuition  of  some  truer  life  than  those 
around  him  dreamed  of ;  the  halo  of  divine  things 
was  still  about  him ;  the  "  God's  image"  was  just 
freshly  stamped  on  the  bright  new  coin  of  his 
being; — and  it  remained  for  the  coming  years  to 
witness  how  long  the  brightness  would  last  in  the 
hands  of  the  untrustworthy  individuals  who  had  it 
in  possession.  For  it  is  a  dangerous  fallacy  to  aver 
that  every  man  has  the  making  of  his  destiny  in 
his  own  hands.  To  a  certain  extent  he  has,  no 
doubt,  and  with  education  and  firm  resolve  he 
can  do  much  to  keep  down  the  Beast  and  develop 
the  Angel, — but  a  terrific  responsibility  rests  upon 
those  often  voluntarily  reckless  beings,  his  parents, 
who,  without  taking  thought,  use  the  God's  privi- 
lege of  giving  life,  while  utterly  failing  to  perceive 
the  means  offered  to  them  for  developing  and  pre- 
serving that  life  under  the  wisest  and  most  har- 
monious conditions.     It  is  certainly  true  that  many 

19 


BOY. 

parents  do  what  they  call  their  "  best"  for  their 
children, — that  is,  they  work  for  them  and  educate 
them  and  "  place"  them  advantageously,  as  they 
think,  in  life, — but  they  are  apt  to  forget  that  this 
"  life"  they  set  store  by  is  not  only  a  question  of 
food,  clothing,  money,  and  position, — its  central 
pivot  is  thought,  and  thought  begins  with  the  first 
brain-pulsations.  There  is  no  use  or  sense  in  de- 
nying the  fact,  it  is  so.  Therefore  the  progenitors 
of  those  living  thought-cells  cannot  possibly  shirk 
the  moral  obligation  which  they  take  upon  them- 
selves from  the  very  moment  of  a  child's  birth. 
"  The  sins  of  the  fathers  shall  be  visited  upon  the 
children"  is  often  quoted  as  a  merciless  axiom, 
but  it  is  merely  the  declaration  of  a  natural  law, 
which,  if  broken,  brings  punishment  in  its  train. 

Boy,  lately  arrived  from  the  Infinite,  was  guilt- 
less of  his  present  dubious  surroundings.  He  did 
not  make  his  "  honourable"  father  a  drunkard  or 
his  mother  a  sloven.  He  came  into  the  world  de- 
signed, perchance,  to  be  the  redemption  of  both 
his  parents  had  they  received  his  innocent  presence 
in  that  spirit.  But  they  did  not.  They  accepted 
him  as  a  natural  result  of  marriage,  and  took  no 
more  heed  of  him  than  a  pair  of  monkeys  casually 
observant  of  their  first  offspring.  They,  by  virtue 
of  the  evolution  theory,  should,  as  human  beings, 
have  been  on  a  scale  higher  than  the  Simian  an- 
cestor,— but  Captain  D'Arcy-Muir  was  not  even 
on  a  par  with  that  hairy  personage,  inasmuch  as  the 
bygone  aboriginal  monkey,  not  being  aware  of 
20 


BOY. 

strong  drink,  could  not  degrade  himself  that  way. 
As  long  as  Boy  was  fed,  clothed,  taken  out,  and 
put  to  bed  regularly,  "  Muzzy"  and  "  Poo  Sing" 
considered  they  were  doing  all  their  necessary  duty 
by  him,  "  Muzzy"  would,  indeed,  have  been  pro- 
foundly astonished  if  she  had  known  that  Boy  took 
her  clothing  into  his  consideration,  and  wondered 
why  hooks  were  often  off  and  buttons  often  gone 
from  her  garments,  and  why  her  hair  was  so  like 
some  of  the  stuffing  of  the  old  arm-chair, — woolly 
sort  of  stuffing,  which  was  coming  through  the 
leather  for  want  of  mending.  Boy  used  to  com- 
pare "  Muzzy"  with  another  lady  who  sometimes 
came  to  visit  him,  Miss  Letitia  Leslie,  a  wonderful 
vision  to  Boy's  admiring  eyes,  a  rustling,  glisten- 
ing dream,  made  up  of  soft,  dove-coloured  silk  and 
violet-scented  old  lace,  and  tender,  calm  blue  eyes 
and  small  hands  with  big  diamonds  flashing  on 
their  dainty  whiteness, — "  Miss  Letty,"  as  she  was 
generally  called,  and  "  that  purse-proud  old  maid," 
as  Captain  the  Honourable  frequently  designated 
her.  Boy  had  his  own  title  for  her, — it  was  "  Kiss- 
Letty"  instead  of  "  Miss  Letty," — and  he  would 
often  ask  in  dull  moments,  when  the  numerous  per- 
plexities of  his  small  mind  became  too  entangled 
for  him  to  bear,  "  Where  is  Kiss-Letty  ?  Me  wants 
Kiss-Letty.  Kiss-Letty  loves  Boy, — Boy  loves 
Kiss-Letty." 

And  to  hear  him  sweetly  meandering  along  in 
this  fashion,  the  uninitiated  stranger  might  have 
imagined  "  Kiss-Letty"  to  be  a  kind  of  fairy,  an 

21 


BOY. 

elf,  born  of  moonlight  and  lilies,  rather  than  what 
she  really  was,  a  spinster  of  forty-five,  who  made 
no  pretence  to  be  a  whit  younger  than  she  was, — 
a  spinster  who  was  perfectly  content  to  wear  her 
own  beautiful  gray  hair,  and  to  wish  for  no  "  touch- 
ing up"  on  the  delicate,  worn  pallor  of  her  cheeks, 
— a  spinster,  moreover,  who  was  proud  of  her 
spinsterhood,  as  it  was  the  sign  of  her  unbroken 
fidelity  to  a  dead  man  who  had  loved  her.  Miss 
Letitia  Leslie  had  had  her  history,  her  own  private 
tragedy  of  tears  and  heartbreak,  but  the  depths  of 
sorrow  in  her  soul  had  turned  to  sweetness  instead 
of  sourness;  her  grief  had  taught  her  to  be  com- 
passionate of  the  griefs  of  others,  and  the  unkind 
sword  of  fate  that  had  pierced  her  gentle  breast 
rendered  her  delicately  cautious  of  ever  wounding, 
by  so  much  as  a  word  or  look,  the  sensitive  feelings 
of  others.  Death  and  circumstance  had  made  her 
the  independent  mistress  of  a  large  fortune,  which 
she  used  lavishly  for  the  private  doing  of  good 
where  evil  abounded.  Into  the  foul  and  festering 
slums  of  the  great  city,  Into  the  shabby  dwellings 
of  poorly  paid  clerks  and  half-starved  curates,  up 
among  the  barely  furnished  attics  where  struggling 
artists  worked  for  scanty  livelihood  and  the  distant 
hope  of  fame,  "  Kiss-Letty"  took  her  sweet  and 
gracious  presence,  wearing  a  smile  that  was  a  very 
good  reflex  of  God's  sunshine,  and  speaking  com- 
fort in  a  voice  as  tender  as  that  of  any  imagined 
angel  bringing  God's  messages.  Much  of  the 
grinding  of  the  ceaseless  wheel  of  tribulation  did 

22 


BOY. 

Miss  Letitia  see  as  she  went  to  and  fro  on  her 
various  errands  of  mercy  and  friendship,  but  per- 
haps among  all  the  haunts  and  homes  where  her 
personality  was  familiar,  her  interest  had  seldom 
been  more  strongly  aroused  than  in  the  ill-ordered 
household  in  Hereford  Square,  where  Captain  the 
Honourable  D'Arcy-Muir  drank  and  swore,  and 
his  wife  "  slovened"  the  hours  away  in  muddle  and 
misanthropy.  For  here  was  Boy, — Boy,  a  soft, 
smiling  morsel  of  helpless  life  and  innocent  expec- 
tancy,— Boy,  who  stretched  out  plump  mottled 
arms  to  "  Kiss-Letty,"  and  said,  chucklingly, 
"  Ullo !" — an  exclamation  he  had  picked  up  from 
the  friendly  policeman  at  the  corner  of  the  square, 
who  greeted  him  thus  when  he  went  out  in  his 
perambulator — "Ullo!  'Ows  'oo,  Kiss-Letty? 
Wants  Boy  out!  Kiss-Letty,  take  Boy  wiz  'er 
walk-talk." 

Which  observation,  rendered  into  heavier  Eng- 
lish, implied  that  Boy  politely  enquired  after  Miss 
Letitia's  health,  and  desired  to  go  out  walking,  and 
likewise  talking,  with  that  lady. 

And  no  one  in  all  the  world  responded  more 
promptly  or  more  lovingly  to  Boy's  delightful 
amenities  than  Miss  Letitia  did.  The  wisely  sweet 
expression  of  the  child's  face  fascinated  her;  she 
saw  in  Boy  the  possibilities  of  noble  manhood, 
graced  perhaps  by  the  rarest  gifts  of  genius.  Be- 
lievers in  hereditary  development  would  have  asked 
her  how  she  could  imagine  it  possible  for  a  child 
born  of  such  parents  to  possess  an  ideal  or  excep- 

23 


BOY. 

tionally  endowed  nature?  To  which  she  would 
have  rephed  that  she  did  not  beheve  in  the  heri- 
tage so  much  as  the  environment  of  Hfe.  Here 
she  was  partly  wrong  and  partly  right.  Such  in- 
explicable things  happen  in  the  evolution  of  one 
particular  human  being  from  a  whole  chain  of 
other  human  beings  that  it  is  impossible  to  gauge 
correctly  the  result  of  the  whole.  Why,  for  ex- 
ample, the  poet  Keats  should  have  had  a  livery- 
stable-keeper  for  a  father  will  always  be  somewhat 
of  a  mystery.  And  why  men,  lineally  descended 
from  "  ancient,  noble,  and  honourable"  families 
should  in  this  day  have  degenerated  into  turf- 
gamblers,  drunkards,  and  social  rascals  generally 
is  also  a  bewildering  conundrum.  In  the  case  of 
Keats,  birth  and  environment  were  against  him; 
in  the  case  of  the  modern  aristocrat,  birth  and  en- 
vironment are  with  him.  The  one  has  become  an 
English  classic;  the  other  is  an  English  disgrace. 
Who  shall  clear  up  the  darkness  surrounding  the 
working  of  this  law?  Miss  Letitia  made  no  at- 
tempt to  penetrate  such  physiological  obscurities; 
she  simply  argued  that  for  Boy  to  be  brought  up 
in  a  "  muddle,"  and  set  face  to  face  with  the  ever- 
present  whiskey-bottle,  was  decidedly  injurious  to 
his  future  prospects.  The  D'Arcy-Muirs  were 
poor,  though  they  had  "  expectations ;"  she,  Miss 
Letitia,  was  rich.  She  had  no  relatives, — no  one 
in  the  world  had  the  least  claim  upon  her, — and 
she  had  serious  thoughts  of  adopting  Boy.  Would 
his  parents  part  with  him?      That  was  a  knotty 

24 


BOY. 

point, — a  delicate  and  very  doubtful  question. 
But  she  had  considered  it  for  some  time  carefully, 
and  had  come  to  the  reasonable  conclusion  that  as 
Boy  seemed  to  be  rather  in  the  way  of  his  father 
and  mother  than  otherwise,  and  that,  moreover, 
as  her  terms  of  adoption  were  inclusive  of  making 
him  her  sole  heir,  it  was  probable  she  might  gain 
the  victory.  And  the  very  day  on  which  this  true 
narrative  begins — when  Captain  the  Honourable 
was  executing  his  whiskey  war-dance  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  his  son's  murmured  "  Poo  Sing!"  and 
rhythmic  spoon-tapping — was  the  one  selected  by 
the  gentle  lady  to  commence  operations,  or,  as  she 
put  it,  "  to  break  the  proposition  gradually"  to  the 
strange  parents  whose  daily  lives  furnished  such 
a  singular  example  of  wedded  felicity  to  their  ob- 
servant offspring.  When  her  dainty  brougham, 
drawn  by  its  sleek  and  spirited  roans,  drew  up  at 
the  door  of  the  house  in  Hereford  Square,  there 
were  various  signs  even  outside  that  habitation 
which  filled  the  order-loving  spirit  of  Miss  Letitia 
with  doubtful  qualms  and  hesitations.  To  begin 
with,  there  was  not  a  blind  in  any  of  the  windows 
that  was  drawn  up  straight.  They  were  all  awry. 
This  gave  the  dwelling  a  generally  squinting,  leer- 
ing look  which  was  not  pleasant.  Then  again,  the 
doorsteps  were  dirty.  There  were  strange,  smeary 
pieces  of  paper  floating  down  the  area  in  grimy 
companionship  with  broken  bits  of  straw.  The 
bell-handle  hung  out  of  its  socket,  somewhat  like 
an  eye  undergoing  the  latest  surgical  operation  for 

25 


BOY. 

cataract.  There  were  recent  traces  of  coal  on  the 
pavement, — a  ton  had  evidently  just  been  shot 
down  the  "  hole-into-the-cellar"  arrangement  which 
some  brilliant  British  "  bright  idea"  has  invented 
for  the  greater  accumulation  of  dirt  in  the  streets, 
and  the  coal-men  had  not  troubled  to  "  clean  up" 
after  the  performance.  Miss  Letitia,  stepping 
lightly  out  of  her  carriage,  was  compelled  to 
crunch  the  heels  of  her  pretty  little  French  hrode- 
quins  in  coal-dust,  and  soil  the  delicate  edge  of  her 
frilled  silk  petticoat  in  the  same.  Cautiously  she 
handled  the  helpless-looking  bell-pull,  with  the  re- 
sult that  a  hollow  tinkling  sound  awakened  the  in- 
terior echoes.  The  door  opened,  and  a  slatternly 
maid-servant  appeared. 

"Is  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir ?" 

"  Yes,  'm,  at  home  to  you,  'm,  of  course,  'm. 
But  she's  hout  to  most,  on  account  of  master's 
bein'  orful  bad.  Orful  bad  he  is.  Step  in,  please, 
'm." 

Whereupon,  Miss  Letitia  "  stepped  in,"  asking 
pleasantly  as  she  did  so, — 

"  And  how  is  dear  Boy?" 

"  Oh,  jes  the  same,  'm!  Alius  smilin'  an'  com- 
foble-like.  Never  see  such  a  child  for  good-tem- 
per. Seems  alius  a-'  thinkin'  '  pretty.  This  way, 
'm!" 

And  she  escorted  her  visitor  into  a  small  side- 
room  which  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  called  her  "  bou- 
doir," announcing  briskly, — 

"  Miss  Leslie,  'm !" 

26 


BOY. 

"  Dear  me !"  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir,  clad  in  the 
usual  short  skirt  and  ill-fitting  blouse,  rose  to  re- 
ceive the  incoming  guest. 

"  How  nice  of  you,  Letitia,  to  come !  So  early, 
too !     I'm  afraid  luncheon  has  been  cleared " 

"  Pray  don't  speak  of  it,"  interrupted  Miss  Les- 
lie;  "of  course,  at  four  o'clock " 

"Is  it  four?  Dear  me!"  And  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir  smiled  sleepily.  "  Why,  then  it's  time  for 
tea.     You  will  have  some  tea?" 

"  Thank  you,"  murmured  Miss  Letty.  "  But 
don't  put  yourself  out  in  any  way.     Is  Boy ?" 

"  Quite  well  ?  Oh,  yes !"  and  Boy's  mother  rang 
the  bell  as  she  spoke.  "  Boy  is  in  the  dining-room 
with  his  father.  He  has  just  had  his  bread-and- 
milk.  I  have  left  him  there  because  I  think  he 
keeps  Jim  a  little  bit  in  order.  Jim  is  really  quite 
impossible  to-day,  but,  of  course,  he  wouldn't  hurt 
the  child." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  Miss  Letitia,  her  cheeks 
growing  paler,  "  that  your  husband  is — well ! — 
yoit  know !  and  that  Boy  is  with  him  while  in  that 
terrible  condition?" 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  laughed. 

"  Of  course !  How  horrified  you  look,  Letitia ! 
But  you  have  no  idea  how  useful  Boy  is  in  that 
way.  He  really  saves  pounds'  worth  of  furniture. 
When  Boy  is  strapped  in  his  chair,  and  Jim  is  on 
the  booze,  Jim  never  knocks  the  things  about  as 
he  would  if  he  were  alone,  because,  you  see,  he 
is  afraid  of  upsetting  Boy.     It  is  not  out  of  kind- 

27 


BOY. 

ncss  to  Boy  exactly,  but  simply  because  he  hates  to 
hear  a  child  yell, — it  gets  on  his  nerves.  Then,  of 
course,  Boy  thinks  his  father  is  ill,  and  pities  him 
so  much  that  the  two  get  on  together  capitally." 

And  this  lymphatic  lump  of  a  woman  laughed 
again,  the  while  Miss  Letitia  gazed  blankly  at  the 
fireplace  and  endeavoured  to  control  her  indignant 
feelings.  The  maid-servant  came  in  just  then  in 
answer  to  the  bell. 

"  Bring  the  tea,  Gerty,"  commanded  her  mistress 
with  quite  a  grand  air,  as  one  who  should  say 
"  Bid  the  thousand  menials  in  the  outer  court  of 
the  castle  serve  me  with  delicacies  on  their  bended 
knees." 

Gerty  had  a  severe  cold,  and  sniffed  violently 
and  unbecomingly. 

"  Please,  'm,  the  milkman  ain't  been  yet.  This 
mornin'  he  said  as  he  might  be  late,  as  there  was 
a  family  t'other  side  of  the  square  as  liked  their 
meals  punctual,  and  he  guessed  he'd  have  to  go 
that  side  first  instead  of  ours.  And  there  ain't 
none  left  from  the  mornin'.  Master  Boy's  'ad  it 
all." 

"Dear,  sweet,  greedy  little  pig!"  smiled  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir,  affably.  "  Well,  you  can  bring  the 
tea-cups  and  the  tea-pot  and  the  kettle  and  the 
bread  and  butter  and — oh!  There  is  condensed 
milk,  I  know.  Will  you  have  condensed  milk, 
Letitia?" 

Miss  Letitia  responded  somewhat  primly, — 

"  No,  certainly  not !"  Then,  regretting  her 
28 


BOY. 

rather  sharp  tone  of  voice,  she  added,  "  You  must 
not  think  me  fanciful,  but  I  cannot  bear  condensed 
milk  in  my  tea.  You  know  I  come  of  an  old 
Devonshire  family,  and  I  believe  I  grew  up  on 
genuine  milk  and  genuine  cream." 

"  Oh,  but  condensed  milk  is  quite  genuine !" 
said  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir.  "  I  love  it !  I  eat  it  on 
bread-and-butter  often  instead  of  jam.  You  must 
not  have  old  maids'  prejudices,  Letitia!"  And  she 
smiled  the  provoking  smile  of  a  superior  being 
who  knows  all  the  best  things  of  life  without 
teaching  or  experience. 

Miss  Letty  sat  patiently  under  the  verdict  of 
"  old  maids'  prejudices,"  wondering  how  on  earth 
she  was  going  to  broach  the  subject  which  was 
uppermost  in  her  mind  to  this  woman,  who  seemed 
for  the  moment  to  have  absorbed  all  the  intellect 
of  which  she  was  capable  into  the  bland  considera- 
tion of  condensed  milk.  She  started  the  conver- 
sation again  hesitatingly. 

"  Is  Captain  D'Arcy-Muir  likely  to  go  out  pres- 
ently, do  you  think?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  couldn't  say,"  replied  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  still  smiling.  "  You  see,  he  can  scarcely 
stand;  he  won't  dress  himself  properly;  and  he 
has  just  taken  to  singing — listen!"  and  she  held 
up  a  fat  forefinger  to  invite  attention.  Miss  Le- 
titia had  no  need  to  strain  her  ears  for  the  extra- 
ordinary sounds  which  came  fitfully  through  the 
door, — sounds  between  a  cough  and  a  yell,  where- 
with were  intermingled  the  familiar  words, — 

29 


BOY. 

"Old  King  Co-ole 
Was  a  jo-olly  old  so-ul  !" 

"  Pray,  pray!"  implored  Miss  Letty,  nervously, 
"  do  get  Boy  out  of  that  room !  Really,  my  dear, 
it  isn't  fit  for  the  child.  I  beg  of  you!  I — I — 
should  like  to  see  Boy!" 

"  Well,  /  can't  go  and  fetch  him,"  declared  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir,  with  a  deeply  injured  expression. 
"  I  should  only  get  pushed  out  of  the  room,  or  hit 
in  the  eye,  if  I  attempted  it  when  Jim  is  like  this ; 
but  I'll  send  Gerty." 

And  as  Gerty  just  then  entered  with  all  the  ne- 
cessities for  tea,  minus  the  milk,  she  added, — 

"Fetch  Master  Boy  in  here,  will  you?" 

"  Yes,  'm.     If  he'll  come  with  me." 

She  disappeared  to  fulfil  her  mission. 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  sank  back  into  the  depths 
of  her  easy-chair  with  the  manner  of  one  who  has 
done  every  duty  that  could  possibly  be  expected  of 
lier.  Miss  Letitia  clasped  and  unclasped  her  neatly 
gloved  hands  nervously.  The  noises  of  mingled 
coughing  and  yelling  increased  in  ferocity,  and 
soon  they  were  broken  by  two  widely  differing 
sounds — a  drunken  curse  and  a  child's  laughter. 

"  D— n  you,  get  out  of  this !" 

"  Kiss-Letty !  Oo — ee !  My  kissy-kissy  Kiss- 
Letty!" 

And,  escaping  from  Gerty's  hand,  Boy  literally 
danced  into  the  room. 


30 


CHAPTER    11. 

Making  straight  for  Miss  Letitia,  the  jumping 
bundle  of  dimples,  gold  curls,  short  knickers,  and 
waggling  pinafore  came  with  a  wild  bound  into 
that  lady's  arms. 

"  Oo-ee !"    he  once  more  exclaimed.  "  Vi'lets !" 

And,  discovering  a  bunch  of  those  sweet  blos- 
soms half-hidden  in  the  folds  of  Miss  Leslie's  soft 
lace  necktie,  he  burrowed  his  little  nose  into  them 
with  delighted  eagerness;  then  looking  up  again, 
and  smiling  angelically,  he  repeated  in  a  dulcet 
murmur, — "  'Es !  Vi'lets !  'Oo  is  vezy  sweet, 
zoo  Kiss-Letty!" 

Miss  Letitia  pressed  him  to  her  breast,  patted 
him,  smoothed  his  towzled  locks,  and  took  off  his 
loosely-hanging  pinafore,  thereby  disclosing  his 
whole  chubby  form  clad  in  what  city  tailors  eupho- 
niously term  a  "  small  gent's  Jack  Tar." 

"  Well,  Boy,"  she  said,  her  gentle  voice  trembling 
with  quite  a  delicious  cooing  sweetness,  "  how  are 
you  to-day?" 

"  Me  vezy  well,"  answered  Boy  placidly,  twining 
round  his  dumpy  fingers  a  long  delicately-linked 
gold  chain  which  "  Kiss-Letty"  always  wore ; 
"vezy  well,  'sank  'oo !"  (this  with  a  big  sigh). 
"Me  awfu'  bozzered"  (bothered)  '"bout  Dads! 
Poo  Sing !    Vezy,  vezy  ill !" 

31 


BOY. 

And  Boy  conveyed  such  a  heart-rending  expres- 
sion of  deep  distress  into  his  beautiful  bhie  eyes 
that  Miss  Letitia  was  quite  touched,  and  was  al- 
most persuaded  into  a  sense  of  pity  for  the  degraded 
creature  who  was  "  putting  a  thief  into  his  mouth 
to  steal  away  his  brains,"  in  the  opposite  room. 

"You  see,  Letitia,"  murmured  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  with  a  fat,  complacent  smile,  "  you  see  just 
how  Boy  takes  it.  He  and  his  father  are  the  most 
perfect  friends  in  the  world !" 

Good  Miss  Leslie  looked  as  she  felt,  pained  and 
puzzled.  How  was  she  to  broach  the  idea  she  had 
of  adopting  Boy,  if  he  was  already  considered  by 
his  stupid  mother  to  be  a  sort  of  stop-gap,  or 
"  buffer,"  between  herself  and  the  drunken  rages 
of  her  "honourable"  lord  and  master?  She  re- 
solved to  temporize. 

"  I  have  been  wondering,"  she  began,  gently,  as 
she  settled  the  little  fellow  more  comfortably  on 
her  lap,  "  whether  you  would  let  Boy  come  and 
stay  with  me  for  a  few  days " 

"  Stay  with  you!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir, 
and  so  surprised  was  she  that  she  actually  lifted  her 
bulky  form  an  inch  or  two  out  of  its  sunken  atti- 
tude in  the  arm-chair,  "with  yoti,  Letitia?  A 
child  like  that?  Why,  you  would  not  know  in 
the  least  what  to  do  with  him !" 

"  I  think  I  should,"  submitted  Miss  Letty,  with 
a  little  smile ;  "  besides,  of  course,  you  could  send 
Gerty  with  him  if  you  liked.  But  I  do  not  think 
it  would  be  necessary.     I  have  an  excellent  maid 

32 


BOY. 

who  is  devoted  to  children ;  and  then  he  could  have 
a  large  room  to  play  about  in,  and " 

"Oh,  it  would  never  do! — never!"  declared 
Boy's  mother,  shaking  her  head  with  a  half- 
reproachful,  half -compassionate  air.  "  You  see, 
my  dear  Letitia,  it  is  not  as  if  you  were  married 
and  had  children  of  your  own.  You  wouldn't 
understand  how  to  manage  Boy  a  bit." 

"You  think  not?"  said  Miss  Letty,  patiently. 
"  Well,  perhaps  I  might  be  a  little  ignorant ;  but 
would  you  let  me  try?" 

"  I  could  not,  I  really  could  not,"  and  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir  smoothed  her  floppy  blouse  over  her 
massive  bosom  with  a  protective  pat  of  her  large 
hand.  "  Boy  would  simply  break  his  heart  with- 
out me.     Wouldn't  you,  Boy?" 

Boy,  thus  adjured,  looked  round  inquiringly. 
He  had  been  busy  arranging  "  Kiss-Letty's"  gold 
chain  in  loops  and  twists,  such  as  pleased  his  fancy, 
and  thus  employed  had  failed  to  follow  the  conver- 
sation. 

"How  wouldn't  Boy?"  he  demanded. 

"  Boy  wouldn't  like  to  leave  Muzzy,"  explained 
Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir,  unctuously;    "would  he?" 

Boy  was  still  meditatively  concerned  with  the 
looping  of  the  gold  chain. 

'■'  Leave  Muzzy?"   he  queried.     "  Wha'  for?" 

"What  for?"  echoed  his  mother.  "  To  go  with 
Miss  Letty,  all  by  your  own  self,  and  no  kind, 
good  Muzzy  to  take  care  of  you." 

Boy  stopped  twisting  the  gold  chain.  Things 
3  33 


BOY. 

began  to  look  serious.  He  put  one  rosy  finger 
into  his  rosier  mouth  and  started  to  consider  the 
question.  "  No  kind,  good  Muzzy  to  take  care  of 
you."  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  was  her  own  trumpeter 
on  this  occasion.  That  she  was  a  "  kind,  good 
Muzzy"  was  entirely  her  own  idea.  If  Boy  had 
been  able  to  express  himself  with  thorough  lucidity, 
he  would  most  probably  have  given  the  palm  for 
"  kindness  and  goodness"  and  "  taking  care  of  him" 
to  the  servant  Gerty  rather  than  to  Muzzy.  But 
his  little  heart  told  him  that  he  ought  to  love  his 
Muzzy  best  of  all ;  and  yet — how  about  "  Kiss- 
Letty"?     He  hesitated. 

"  Me  loves  Muzzy  vczy  much,"  he  murmured, 
lowering  his  pretty  eyes,  while  his  sensitive  little 
under-lip  began  to  quiver.  "  But  me  loves  Kiss- 
Letty  too.     Me  would  like  out  wiz  Kiss-Letty !" 

And  having  thus  taken  courage  to  declare  his 
true  sentiments,  he  felt  more  independent,  and 
raised  his  golden  head  with  a  curious  little  air 
of  defiance  and  appeal  intermingled.  Just  then 
a  diversion  occurred  in  the  entrance  of  the  servant 
Gerty,  carrying  a  jug. 

"  Oh,  here  is  the  milk  at  last !"  said  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  Now  we  can  have 
tea.  Gerty,  what  do  you  think!  Here  is  Miss 
Leslie  wanting  to  take  Boy  to  stay  with  her  for 
a  few  days.     Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing?" 

Gerty  sniffed  her  usual  sniff,  which,  as  she  gave 
it,  almost  amounted  to  an  enigma. 

"  I  should  let  him  go,  'm,  if  I  were  you,  'm," 
34 


BOY. 

she  said ;  whereat  Miss  Letty  could  have  embraced 
her.  "  He  ain't  doin'  no  good  'ere,  with  the  mas- 
ter on  in  his  tearin'  tantrums  an'  swilhn'  whiskey 
fit  to  bust  hisself ;  an'  really  there's  no  tellin'  what 
might  happen.  Oh,  yes,  'm,  I  should  let  him 
go,  'm!" 

"Would  you  really?"  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir 
rose  and  lolled  herself  lazily  along  to  the  tea-table. 
"Well,  do  you  want  him  to-day,  Letitia?" 

"  Why,  yes,  I  can  take  him  at  once,"  replied  Miss 
Leslie,  quite  trembling  with  excitement,  and  com- 
mending Gerty  to  all  the  special  favours  of  Provi- 
dence for  the  evident  influence  she  exerted  on  the 
flabby  mind  of  her  mistress.  "  Nothing  will  please 
me  better." 

"  Such  a  funny  notion  of  yours,"  smiled  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir,  hovering  over  the  tea-things  like  a 
sort  of  large  loosely- feathered  bird.  "You  are  such  a 
regular  old  maid,  Letitia,  that  I  should  have  thought 
you  wouldn't  have  had  a  child  messing  about  in 
your  beautiful  home  for  the  world.  However,  if 
you  really  want  him,  take  him ;  but  you  must  have 
him  alone.     I  can't  spare  Gerty." 

Gerty  smiled  broadly. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Leslie  won't  want  me,  'm,"  she  cheer- 
fully declared.  "  Master  Boy  don't  give  no  trou- 
ble. Shall  I  put  his  clothes  together,  'm?  He 
ain't  got  nothing  but  his  white  flannel  sailor-suit 
and  two  little  shirts  and  night-gowns." 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  sighed  wearily. 

"  Oh,  dear,  don't  bother  me  about  such  things," 
35 


BOY, 

she  said.  "  Just  make  a  brown-paper  parcel  of 
what  you  think  the  child  will  want  for  a  week, 
and  put  it  in  Miss  Leslie's  brougham.  You  came 
in  your  brougham,  Letitia?  Of  course.  Yes, 
that  will  be  all  right.  Put  it  all  in  the  brougham, 
Gerty." 

"  Yes,  'm.  Shall  I  bring  Master  Boy's  hat  and 
overcoat  in  here?" 

"  Certainly.  Dear  me,  what  a  fuss !"  Here 
Gerty  promptly  left  the  room.  "  One  would  think 
the  child  was  going  to  the  wilds  of  Africa.  Do 
you  take  sugar,  Letitia?  Yes?  Ah,  you  are  not 
inclined  to  be  at  all  stout,  are  you?"  this  with  a 
somewhat  envious  glance  at  Miss  Leslie's  still  per- 
fectly graceful  and  svelte  figure.  "  No,  I  should 
think  you  must  be  nearly  all  skin  and  bone.  Now, 
/  can  never  take  sugar.  I  put  on  flesh  directly. 
Here  is  your  tea.  Boy,  do  you  want  any  more 
milk?" 

Boy  had  during  the  past  few  minutes  remained 
in  a  condition  of  bland  staring.  Vague  notions 
that  his  "  wanting  out"  with  Kiss-Letty  was  going 
to  be  a  granted  and  accomplished  fact  pleased  his 
little  brain,  but  he  had  no  skill  to  discourse  on  his 
sensations,  even  in  broken  language.  He  was, 
however,  too  happy  to  require  any  extra  feeding. 
He  therefore  declined  the  offer  of  "  more  milk" 
with  a  negative  shake  of  his  gold  curls,  and,  after 
a  little  further  consideration,  clambered  off  Miss 
Letitia's  knee  and  went  to  his  mother. 


36 


BOY. 

"Me  goin'  out  wiz  Kiss-Letty?"  he  inquired, 
with  a  solemn  air. 

"  Yes.  You  are  going  to  stay  with  her  in  her 
grand  big  house,  away  from  poor  Muzzy,"  repHed 
the  "  poor  Muzzy"  in  question,  taking  a  large 
mouthful  of  bread-and-butter  and  swallowing  it 
down  with  a  gulp  of  tea.  "And  I  hope  you'll  be 
a  good  boy." 

"  'Ope  me  be  a  goo'  boy !"  he  echoed,  thought- 
fully.    "'Ess!     Me  tell  Dads?" 

Miss  Letitia  looked  startled,  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir 
smiled. 

"  No.  You  had  better  not  tell  Dads.  He  is  ill, 
you  know.  When  you  come  back  he  will  be  quite 
well." 

"  Sink  so  ?"    queried  Boy,  dubiously. 

"  Think  so  ?  Of  course  I  think  so.  Now,  don't 
stand  staring  there.  Here's  your  picture-book; 
look  at  that  till  Gerty  brings  you  your  hat  and 
coat." 

Boy  took  the  interesting  volume  offered  him, 
docilely,  but  without  enthusiasm.  He  knew  it  well. 
Its  torn  covers,  the  impossible  beasts  and  birds 
depicted  within  it,  the  extraordinary  jumble  of 
rhymes  which  Gerty  would  read  to  him  at  odd 
moments,  and  which  he  would  afterwards  think 
about  in  pained  silence, — all  these  things  worried 
him.  There  was  a  large  and  elaborately  orna- 
mented B  in  the  book,  and,  twisted  in  and  out  its 
curly  formation,  were  two  designs  which  were 
utterly  opposed  to  each  other, — a  cricket-bat  and 

Z7 


BOY. 

a  bumble-bee.  The  "poetry"  accompanying  it 
said, 

Fetch  me  the  BAT 
To  kill  the  RAT. 

After  this  ferocious  couplet  came  the  flamboy- 
ant-coloured drawing  of  a  large  yellow  flower,  un- 
like any  flower  ever  born  in  any  field  of  the  wide 
world.  The  yellow  flower  being  duly  considered  as 
a  growth  of  distinct  individuality,  other  two  lines 
appeared, — 

Look  here  and  see 
The  BUMBLE-BEE. 

This  particular  page  of  his  "  picture-book"  had 
often  puzzled  Boy.  When  Gerty  had  first  read  to 
him 

"Fetch  me  the  Bat 
To  kill  the  Rat," 

he  had  at  once  asked, — 

"Where  rat?" 

Gerty  had  sought  everywhere  all  over  the  ornate 
capital  letter  and  the  other  designs  on  the  page  for 
the  missing  animal,  but  in  vain.  Therefore  she 
had  been  reluctantly  compelled  to  admit  the  de- 
pressing truth, — 

"  There  'aint  no  rat,  Master  Boy,  dear !" 

"  Why  no  rat?"  pursued  Boy,  solemnly. 

Driven  to  desperation,  a  bright  idea  suddenly 
crossed  Gerty's  brain. 

"  I  'xpect  it's  cos  it's  killed,"  she  said.  "  See, 
Master  Boy !  It's  '  a  bat  to  kill  a  rat.'  And  the 
rat's  killed !" 

38 


BOY. 

"  Poo'  rat !"  commented  Boy,  thoughtfully. 
"  Gone !   poo'  rat !    gone  altogezzer !" 

He  sighed,  and  refused  to  "  look  here  and  see 
the  Bumble-bee."  He  really  wished  to  know  who 
it  was  that  had  asked  for  a  bat  to  kill  a  rat,  and 
zuhy  that  unknown  individual  had  been  so  furi- 
ously inclined.  But  he  kept  these  desires  to  him- 
self; for  he  had  an  instinctive  sense  that,  though 
Gerty  was  all  kindness,  she  was  not  quite  the  per- 
son to  be  trusted  with  his  closest  confidences. 

Just  now  he  went  away  into  a  corner,  picture- 
book  in  hand,  and  sat  watching  his  "  Muzzy"  and 
"  Kiss-Letty"  taking  tea  together.  Muzzy's  back 
was  towards  him,  and  he  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing why  it  w^as  so  big  and  broad  ?  Why  it  was  so 
difficult  to  get  round  Muzzy,  for  example.  He 
had  no  such  trouble  with  Kiss-Letty.  She  was  so 
slim  and  yet  so  strong;  and  once,  when  she  had 
lifted  him  up  and  carried  him  from  one  room  to  the 
other,  he  felt  as  though  he  were  "  throned  light  in 
air,"  so  easy  and  graceful  had  been  the  way  she 
bore  him.  Now  Muzzy  always  took  hold  of  him 
as  if  he  were  a  lump.  Not  that  he  argued  this  fact 
at  all  in  his  little  mind, — he  was  simply  thinking 
— thinking;  yes,  if  the  sober  truth  must  be  told, 
he  was  thinking  quite  sadly  and  seriously  how  it 
happened  that  Muzzy  was  ugly  and  Kiss-Letty 
pretty!  It  was  such  a  pity  Muzzy  was  ugly!  for 
surely  it  zvas  ugly  to  have  red  blotches  on  the  face 
and  hair  like  the  arm-chair  stuffing.  Such  a  pity, 
such  a  pity  for  Muzzy.     Such  a  pity  too  for  Boy. 

39 


BOY. 

Ah,  and  such  a  pity  it  is  for  all  idle,  slovenly  women 
who  "  let  themselves  go"  and  think  their  children 
"  take  no  notice"  of  indolence,  dirt,  and  discordant 
colours.  The  sense  of  beauty  and  fitness  was  very 
strong  in  Boy.  Where  he  got  it  was  a  mystery; 
it  was  certainly  not  a  heritage  derived  from  either 
of  his  parents.  He  did  not  know  that  "  Kiss- 
Letty"  was  many  years  older  than  Muzzy;  but  he 
did  know  that  she  was  ever  so  much  more  charm- 
ing and  agreeable  to  look  at.  He  judged  by  ap- 
pearances, and  these  were  all  in  "  Kiss-Letty's" 
favour.  For  in  truth  the  elderly  spinster  looked  a 
whole  decade  younger  than  the  more  youthful  mar- 
ried woman.  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir,  though  she  took 
life  with  such  provokingly  indifferent  ease,  "  wore" 
badly;  Miss  Leslie,  despite  many  concealed  sor- 
rows and  disappointments,  wore  well.  Her  face 
was  still  rounded  and  soft-complexioned,  her  eyes 
were  bright  and  clear,  while  her  figure  was  graceful 
and  her  dress  choice  and  elegant.  Boy  indeed 
thought  "  Kiss-Letty"  very  beautiful,  and  he  was 
not  without  experience.  Several  well-known  "  so- 
ciety beauties"  of  the  classed  and  labelled  sort,  who 
are  hawked  about  in  newspaper  "  fashionable" 
columns  as  wearing  blue  or  green,  or  "  looking 
lovely  in  white"  and  "  stately  in  pink,"  were  wont 
to  visit  Captain  the  Honourable  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir  on  their  "  at-home"  days,  and  Boy  was  always 
taken  into  the  drawing-room  to  see  them,  but  some- 
how they  made  no  impression  on  him.  They 
lacked  something,  though  he  could  not  tell  what 

40 


BOY. 

that  something  was.  None  of  them  had  the  smile 
of  "  Kiss-Letty,"  or  her  soft,  dove-Hke  glance  of 
eye.  Peering  at  her  now  from  his  present  corner, 
Boy  considered  her  a  very  angel  of  loveliness.  And 
he  was  actually  going  away  with  her  to  her  "  grand 
big  house,"  Muzzy  said.  Boy  tried  to  think  what 
the  "  grand  big  house"  would  be  like.  The  near- 
est approach  his  imagination  could  make  to  it  was 
Aladdin's  palace,  as  pictured  in  one  of  the  "  fairy 
landscapes"  of  a  certain  magic  lantern  which  a  very 
burly  gentleman,  a  Major  Desmond,  had  brought 
to  him  at  Christmas.  Major  Desmond  was  a 
large,  jovial,  white-haired,  white-moustached  per- 
sonage, with  a  rollicking  mellow  laugh,  and  an 
immense  hand  which,  whenever  it  was  laid  on  Boy's 
head,  caressed  his  curls  with  the  gentleness  of  a 
south  wind  touching  the  petals  of  a  flower. 
Muzzy's  hand  was  hard  and  heavy,  indeed,  com- 
pared to  the  hand  of  Major  Desmond.  Major 
Desmond  was  a  friend  of  Kiss-Letty's, — that  was 
all  Boy  knew  about  him,  that  and  the  magic-lan- 
tern incident.  Ruffling  and  crinkling  up  the  pages 
of  the  too-familiar  "  picture  book"  mechanically, 
Boy  went  on  with  his  own  little  quaint  sequence  of 
thought,  till  suddenly,  just  as  Muzzy  and  Kiss- 
Letty  had  finished  their  tea,  a  dull  crash  was  heard 
in  the  opposite  room,  accompanied  by  a  loud  oath, 
— then  came  silence.  Boy  trotted  out  of  his  corner, 
his  little  face  pale  with  fright. 

"Oh, /'oo^  Sing!"  he  cried;   "Dad's  ill!   Dad's 
hurted !    Me  go  to  Dads !" 

41 


BOY. 

''  No,  no !"  and  Miss  Letty  hastened  to  him  and 
caught  him  in  her  arms.  "  No,  dear.  Wait  a 
minute.  Wait,  dariing.  Let  mother  see  first  what 
is  the  matter." 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  had  risen,  and  was  about  to 
open  the  door  and  make  some  casual  enquiry,  when 
Gerty  came  in,  somewhat  pale  but  giggling. 

"  It's  only  master,  'm,"  she  said.  "  His  foot 
tripped,  and  down  he  fell.  He  'aint  hurt  hisself. 
He  don't  even  trouble  to  get  up ;  he's  just  a  sittin' 
on  the  floor  with  the  whiskey-bottle  as  comfoble 
as  you  please." 

Miss  Letty  shuddered  as  she  listened,  and  clasped 
Boy  more  warmly  to  her  heart,  placing  her  gentle 
hands  against  his  ears  lest  he  should  hear  too  much. 

"  Papa's  all  right,  Boy,  dear,"  she  said.  "  He 
has  just  let  something  fall  on  the  floor.     See?" 

"  Zat  all?"  queried  Boy,  with  an  anxious  look. 

"  That's  all.  Now,"  and  Miss  Letitia  took  his 
dumpy  wee  hand  in  her  own  and  led  him  across  the 
room,  "  come  along  and  we'll  have  a  nice  drive 
together,  shall  we?  Gerty,  have  you  got  Master 
Boy's  things?" 

"  Yes,  'm."  And  Gerty,  flopping  down  on  both 
knees  in  front  of  the  little  fellow,  pulled  a  minia- 
ture overcoat  round  his  tiny  form  and  stuck  a 
sailor-hat  (marked  "  Invincible"  on  the  ribbon) 
jauntily  on  his  head.  "  There  you  are.  Master 
Boy,  dear!  Ain't  you  grand,  eh?  Going  away 
visiting  all  by  your  own  self.     Quite  like  a  big 

man." 

42 


BOY. 

Boy  smiled  vaguely  but  sweetly,  and  turned  one 
of  the  buttons  on  his  coat  round  and  round  medita- 
tively. Quite  like  a  big  man,  was  he?  Well,  he 
did  not  feel  very  big,  but  on  the  contrary  particu- 
larly small,  and  especially  just  now,  because  Muzzy 
was  standing  upright,  looking  down  upon  him  with 
a  spacious  air  of  infinite  and  overwhelming  con- 
descension. Surely  "  Muzzy"  was  a  very  large 
woman, — might  not  one  say  extra  large?  Boy 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  grasped  her  skirt, 
gazing  wistfully  up  at  the  bulk  above  him, — the 
bulk  which  now  stooped,  like  an  over-full  sack  of 
wheat  toppling  forward,  to  kiss  him  and  bid  him 
good-bye. 

"  Remember,  you've  never  been  away  from  me 
before,  Boy,"  and  "  Muzzy"  spoke  in  a  kind  of  in- 
jured tone ;  "  so  I  hope  you  will  be  good  and 
obedient,  and  keep  your  clothes  clean.  And  when 
you  get  to  Miss  Leslie's  house,  don't  smear  your 
fingers  on  the  walls,  and  mind  you  don't  break  any- 
thing. You  know  it  won't  be  as  it  is  here,  where 
you  can  tumble  about  as  you  like  all  day  and 
play " 

"  Oh,  but  he  can!"  interposed  Miss  Leslie,  has- 
tily.    "  I  assure  you  he  can." 

"  Pardon  me,  Letitia,  he  can  not/'  and  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir  sw^elled  visibly  with  matronly  ob- 
stinacy as  she  spoke.  "  It  is  not  likely  that  in 
your  house  you  can  have  wooden  soldiers  all  over 
the  floor.  It  would  be  impossible.  Boy  has  very 
odd  ways  with  his  soldiers.     He  likes  to  '  camp 

43 


BOY. 

them  out'  in  different  spots  of  the  pattern  on  the 
carpet,  and  of  course  it  does  make  a  place  untidy. 
When  one  is  a  mother,  one  does  not  mind  these 
things,"  this  with  a  superior  and  compassionate 
air ;  "  but  you,  with  your  precise  notions  of  order, 
will  find  it  very  trying." 

Miss  Leslie  protested,  with  a  little  smile,  that 
really  she  had  no  particularly  "  precise"  notions  of 
order. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  have,"  declared  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  emphatically.  "  Don't  tell  me  you  haven't, 
Letitia, — all  old  maids  are  the  same.  Then  there 
is  that  dreadful  cow  of  Boy's, — the  thing  Major 
Desmond  gave  him  along  with  the  magic  lantern ; 
he  can  do  without  the  lantern,  of  course;  but  I 
really  am  afraid  he  had  better  take  his  cow." 

Miss  Letitia  laughed,  and  a  very  pretty,  musical 
little  laugh  she  had. 

"  Oh,  by  all  means  let  us  have  the  cow,"  she 
said,  gaily.     "Where  is  it.  Boy?" 

Boy  looked  up,  then  down, — to  the  east,  to  the 
west,  and  everywhere — into  the  air  without  com- 
mitting himself  to  a  reply.  Gerty  came  to  the 
rescue. 

"  I'll  fetch  it,"  she  said,  briskly;  "  I  saw  it  on 
Master  Boy's  bed  a  minute  ago." 

She  left  the  room,  to  return  again  directly  with 
the  interesting  animal  in  question, — quite  a  re- 
spectably-sized toy  cow  with  a  movable  head,  which 
wagged  up  and  down  for  a  long  time  when  set  in 
motion  by  a  touch  of  a  finger.     It  had  a  blue  ribbon 

44 


BOY. 

round  its  neck,  and  Boy  called  it  "  Dunny."  He 
welcomed  it  now  as  he  saw  it  with  the  confiding 
smile  of  long  and  experienced  friendship. 

"  Ullo,  Dunny !"  he  said.  "  Wants  out  wiz 
Boy  ?  Tum  along  zen !"  And  receiving  the  paste- 
board quadruped  in  his  arms  he  embraced  it  with 
effusion. 

"  It  is  most  absurd !"  said  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir, 
grandiosely.  "  Still,  it  would  be  rather  awkward 
for  you,  Letitia,  if  he  were  to  start  crying  for  his 
cow." 

"  It  would,  indeed !"  and  the  laughter  still 
lighted  up  Miss  Letitia's  soft  eyes  with  a  keen  and 
merry  twinkle.  "  I  would  not  be  without  the  cow 
for  worlds." 

Something  in  her  voice  or  smile  caused  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir  to  feel  slightly  cross.  There  was 
an  unmistakable  air  of  youth  about  this  "  old 
maid," — a  sense  of  fun  and  a  spirit  of  enjoyment 
which  were  not  in  "  Muzzy's"  composition.  And 
Muzzy  straightway  got  an  idea  into  her  head  that 
she  was  "  out  of  it,"  as  it  were;  that  Miss  Letitia, 
Boy,  and  "  Dunny"  all  understood  each  other  in 
a  manner  which  she  could  never  grasp,  and  knew 
the  way  to  a  fairyland  where  she  could  never  fol- 
low. And  it  was  with  a  touch  of  snappishness 
that  she  said, — 

"  Well,  if  you  are  going,  hadn't  you  better  go? 
My  husband  will  probably  be  coming  in  here  soon, 
and  he  might  perhaps  make  some  objection  to 

Boy's  leaving " 

45 


BOY. 

"  Oh,  I  won't  run  the  risk  of  that!"  answered 
Miss  Leslie,  quickly.  "  Come  along.  Boy !  Say 
good-bye  to  mother." 

Holding  his  "  cow"  with  one  hand  to  his  breast, 
Boy  raised  his  pretty  little  face  to  be  kissed  again. 

"Goo'  by,  Muzzy  dee-ar!"  he  murmured. 
"  'Ope  Dad's  better  soon !     Kiss  Dads  for  Boy !" 

This  was  his  parting  message  to  the  drunkard 
in  the  next  room,  and,  having  uttered  it,  he  drew 
a  long  breath  as  of  one  who  prepares  to  plunge  into 
unknown  seas,  and  resigned  himself  to  "  Kiss- 
Letty,"  who  led  him  gently  along,  accommodating 
her  graceful  swift  step  to  his  toddling  movements, 
through  the  hall  and  outside  to  her  brougham, 
where  the  footman  in  attendance,  smiling  broadly 
at  the  sight  of  Boy,  lifted  the  little  fellow  in  and 
seated  him  cosily  on  the  soft  cushions.  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir  and  the  servant  Gerty  watched  his 
departure  from  the  house  door. 

"  I  will  take  every  care  of  him,"  called  Miss 
Letitia,  as  she  followed  her  small  guest  into  her 
carriage.     "  Don't  be  at  all  anxious." 

She  waved  her  hand,  the  footman  shut  the  door 
and  mounted  the  box,  and  in  another  minute  the 
smart  little  equipage  had  turned  the  corner  of  Here- 
ford Square  and  disappeared.  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir 
remained  for  a  few  seconds  on  the  steps  of  her 
house,  airing  herself  largely,  and  patronising  with 
a  casual  glance  the  clear  blue  of  the  afternoon 
sky. 

"  What  a  vain  old  woman  that  Miss  Leslie  is !" 
46 


BOY. 

she  remarked  to  Gerty.  "  Really,  she  tries  to  pass 
herself  off  as  about  thirty." 

Gerty  sniffed,  as  usual. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so,  'm,"  she  said.  "  I  don't 
think  she  tries  to  pass  herself  off  as  anythink,  'm ! 
And  I  wouldn't  never  call  her  vain.  She's  just 
the  real  lady,  every  inch  of  her,  and  of  course  she 
can't  help  herself  lookin'  nice.  And  what  a  mercy 
it  is  for  Master  Boy  to  be  took  away  just  now ;  for 
I  didn't  like  to  mention  it  before,  'm,  but  I  don't 
know  what  we're  going  to  do  with  the  Cap'en; 
he's  goin'  on  worse  than  ever,  an'  he's  bin  an' 
torn  nearly  every  mossel  of  his  clothes  off,  an' 
a  puffeckly  disgraceful  sight  he  is,  'm,  lyin'  sprawled 
on  the  floor  a'  playin'  '  patience' !" 


A7 


CHAPTER    III. 

Miss  Letitia's  house,  her  "  great  big  house," 
as  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  had  expansively  described 
it  to  Boy,  was  situated  on  the  sunniest  side  of  Hans 
Place.  It  was  tastefully  built,  and  all  the  window- 
ledges  had  floral  boxes  delightfully  arranged,  with 
flowers  growing  in  pots  and  hanging  baskets,  over 
which,  on  warm  bright  days,  spacious  crimson- 
and-white  awnings  stretched  forth  their  protective 
shade,  giving  the  house-front  quite  a  gay  and  for- 
eign effect.  The  door  was  white,  and  a  highly 
polished  brass  knocker  glinted  in  the  sunshine  with 
an  almost  knowing  wink,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Use 
me,  And  you  shall  see,  Hospitalitee !"  When  Miss 
Letty's  brougham  drove  up,  however,  this  same 
knowing  knocker  was  not  called  into  requisition, 
for  the  butler  had  heard  the  approaching  wheels 
and  had  seen  the  approaching  trotting  roans 
through  a  little  spy-window  of  his  own  in  the  hall, 
so  that  before  Miss  Letty  had  stepped  from  the 
vehicle  and  had  "  jumped"  her  small  visitor  out 
also,  the  door  was  opened  and  the  butler  himself 
stood,  a  sedate  figure  of  civil  welcome,  on  the 
threshold.  Without  betraying  himself  by  so  much 
as  a  profane  smile,  this  dignitary  of  the  household 
accepted  the  cow  and  the  brown  paper  parcel  which 
constituted  all  Boy's  belongings.     He  took  them, 

48 


BOY. 

so  to  speak,  to  his  manly  bosom,  and  then,  waving 
away  the  carriage,  coachman,  footman,  and  horses 
with  a  shght  yet  stately  gesture,  he  shut  the  house 
door  and  followed  his  "  lady"  and  the  "  young 
gentleman"  through  the  hall  into  a  room  which 
beamed  with  light,  warmth,  and  elegance, — Miss 
Letty's  morning-room,  or  boudoir, — where,  with 
undisturbed  serenity,  he  set  the  cow  on  the  table 
between  a  cabinet  portrait  of  Mr.  Balfour  and  a 
small  bronze  statuette  of  Mercury.  The  cow  looked 
rather  out  of  place  there,  but  it  did  not  matter. 

"  Will  you  take  tea,  madam  ?"  he  asked,  in  a 
voice  rendered  mellifluous  by  the  constant  and  care- 
ful practice  of  domestic  gentleness. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Plimpton,"  replied  Miss  Letty, 
cheerfully;  "  we  have  had  tea.  Just  ring  the  bell 
for  Margaret,  will  you?" 

Plimpton  bowed  and  withdrew,  not  forgetting 
to  deposit  the  brown  paper  parcel  on  a  chair  as  he 
made  his  exit.  Boy  stood  speechless,  gazing  round 
him  in  a  state  of  utter  bewilderment,  and  only 
holding  to  any  sense  of  reality  in  things  by  keep- 
ing close  to  "  Kiss-Letty,"  and  for  the  further  re- 
lief of  his  mind  glancing  occasionally  at  the  fa- 
miliar "  Dunny,"  who  presented  the  appearance  of 
grazing  luxuriously  on  an  embroidered  velvet 
table-cloth.  Instinctively  aware  of  the  little  fel- 
low's sudden  shyness  and  touch  of  fear.  Miss  Letty 
did  not  allow  him  to  remain  long  oppressed  by  his 
vague  trouble.      Kneeling  down  beside  him,  she 


49 


BOY. 

took  off  his  hat,  pulled  him  out  of  his  tiny  over- 
coat, and  kissed  his  little  fat  cheeks  heartily. 

"  Now  you  are  at  home  with  Kiss-Letty,"  she 
said,  smiling  straight  into  his  big,  innocent  blue 
eyes,  "  aren't  you?" 

Boy's  breath  came  and  went  quickly;  his  heart 
beat  hard.  He  lifted  one  dumpy  hand  and  dubi- 
ously inserted  a  forefinger  through  the  loops  of 
Miss  Letty's  ever-convenient  neck-chain.  Then  he 
smiled  with  responsive  sweetness  into  the  kind  face 
so  close  to  his  own. 

"  Ess,"  he  murmured,  very  softly,  "  Boy  wiz 
Kiss-Letty !    But  me  feels  awfoo  funny !" 

Miss  Letitia  laughed  and  kissed  him  again. 

"Feels  awfoo  funny,  do  you?"  she  echoed. 
"Oh,  but  I  feel  just  the  same,  Boy!  It's  awfoo 
funny  for  me  to  have  you  here  all  to  myself,  don't 
you  think  so?" 

Boy's  smile  broadened;  he  began  to  chuckle, 
there  was  the  glimmering  perception  of  a  joke 
somewhere  in  his  brain.  Just  at  that  moment  a 
comfortable-looking  woman  in  a  neat,  black  dress, 
with  a  smart,  white  apron,  entered,  and  to  her 
Miss  Letty  turned. 

"  This  is  the  dear  little  fellow  I  told  you  about, 
Margaret,"  she  said,  "  the  only  son  of  the  D'Arcy- 
Muirs.  Master  Boy  he  is  called.  Boy,  will  you 
say  '  How  do  you  do?'  to  Margaret?" 

Boy  looked  up.  He  was  easier  in  his  mind  now, 
and  felt  much  more  at  home. 


50 


BOY. 

"  How  do,  Margit?"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  Me 
turn  to  stay  wiz  Kiss-Letty." 

"  Bless  the  wee  laddie !"  exclaimed  Margaret, 
in  the  broad,  soft  accent  of  Inverness,  of  which 
lovely  town  she  was  a  proud  native,  and  down  she 
flopped  on  her  knees,  already  the  willing  worship- 
per of  one  small  child's  winsomeness ;  "  and  a 
grand  time  ye'll  have  of  it,  I'm  thinking,  if  ye're 
as  good  as  ye're  bonnie !  Come  away  wi'  me  now, 
and  I'll  wash  ye're  bit  bandies  and  put  on  anither 
suit,"  for  her  quick  eye  had  perceived  the  brown 
paper  parcel,  while  her  quick  mind  had  guessed 
its  contents.  "  And  what  time  will  he  be  for  bed, 
mem?" 

"What  time  do  you  go  to  bed.  Boy?"  asked 
Miss  Letty,  caressing  his  curls. 

"  Eight  klock,"  responded  Boy,  promptly. 
"  Gerty  puts  me  in  barf  and  zen  in  bed." 

Both  Miss  Leslie  and  her  maid  laughed. 

"  Well,  it  will  be  just  the  same  to-night,"  said 
"  Kiss-Letty"  gaily,  "  only  it  will  be  Margaret  in- 
stead of  Gerty.  But  it's  a  long  way  off  eight 
o'clock.  You  go  with  Margaret  now,  and  she  will 
bring  you  back  to  me  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
there  you  shall  see  some  pictures." 

Boy  smiled  at  the  prospect.  He  was  ready  for 
anything  now.  He  put  his  hand  trustfully  in  that 
of  Margaret,  merely  observing,  in  a  casual  sort  of 
way, — 

"  Dunny,  tum  wiz  me." 

Margaret  looked  round  enquiringly. 
51 


BOY. 

"  He  means  his  cow,"  explained  Miss  Letty, 
taking  that  animal  from  its  velvet  pasture-land  and 
handing  it  to  her  maid,  who  received  it  quite  re- 
spectfully. "  Just  remember,  Margaret,  will  you, 
that  he  likes  the  cow  on  his  bed.  It  sleeps  with 
him  always." 

Mistress  and  maid  exchanged  a  laughing  glance, 
and  then  Boy  trotted  off.  Miss  Letty  watched  him 
slowly  stumping  up  her  handsome  staircase,  hold- 
ing on  to  Margaret's  hand  and  chattering  all  the 
way,  and  a  sudden  haze  of  tears  blinded  her  sight. 
What  she  had  missed  in  her  life!  what  she  had 
missed !  She  thought  of  it  with  no  selfish  regret, 
but  only  a  little  aching  pain,  and  even  now  she 
stilled  that  pain  with  a  prayer, — a  prayer  that, 
though  God  had  not  seen  fit  to  bless  her  with  the 
love  of  husband  or  children,  she  might  still  be  of  use 
in  the  world,  of  use  perchance  if  only  to  shield  and 
benefit  this  one  little  human  life  of  Boy's  which 
had  attracted  so  much  of  her  interest  and  affection. 
And  with  this  thought,  dismissing  her  tears,  she 
went  up  to  her  own  room,  changed  her  walking- 
dress  for  a  graceful  tea-gown  of  black  Chantilly 
lace  which  clothed  her  slender  figure  with  be- 
coming ease  and  dignity,  and  went  into  her  draw- 
ing-room, where,  near  the  French  window  which 
opened  into  a  beautiful  conservatory,  stood  a  bluff, 
big  gentleman  with  a  white  moustache,  chirruping 
tenderly  to  a  plump  bull-finch,  who  made  no  secret 
of  the  infinite  surprise  it  felt  at  such  strange  at- 


52 


BOY. 

tempts  to  imitate  melodious  warbling.    Miss  Leslie 
uttered  a  low  exclamation  of  pleasure. 

"  Why,  Dick,"  she  said,  "  this  is  delightful !  I 
thought  you  had  gone  abroad?" 

"  So  I  was  going,"  responded  Dick, — otherwise 
Major  Desmond,  advancing  to  take  Miss  Letty's 
outstretched  hand  and  raise  it  gallantly  to  his  lips, 
— "  but  just  as  I  was  about  to  start  I  read  in  the 
newspapers  of  a  fellow — a  man  who  was  once  in 
my  regiment — who  had  got  insulted  by  a  dirty 
ragamuffin  of  a  chap  in  the  custom-house  on  the 
French  frontier,  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  What !  am 
I  going  out  of  England  to  be  treated  as  if  I  were 
a  thief,  and  have  my  portmanteau  searched  by  a 
Frenchy  ?  No !  as  an  English  officer  I  won't  sub- 
mit to  it!  I  will  stay  at  home!'  It  was  a  sudden 
resolution.  You  know  I'm  a  fellow  to  make  sud- 
den resolutions,  ain't  I,  Letty?  Well,  give  you  my 
word,  I  never  looked  upon  custom-house  regula- 
tions in  the  same  light  as  I  do  now.  Come  to  think 
of  it,  you  know,  directly  we  leave  our  own  shores 
we're  treated  like  thieves  and  rascals  by  all  the 
foreigners,  and  why  should  we  expose  ourselves  to 
it?    Eh?    1  say  why r 

Miss  Leslie  laughed. 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  /  don't  know  why,"  she  an- 
swered. "  Only  I  rather  wonder  you  never 
thought  of  all  this  before.  You  have  always  gone 
abroad  some  time  in  the  year,  you  know." 

The  major  pulled  his  white  moustache  thought- 
fully. 

53 


BOY. 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  he  admitted.  "  And  why  the 
devil — I  beg  your  pardon ! — I  have  done  it  I  can't 
imagine.  England's  good  enough  for  anybody. 
There's  too  much  gadding  about  everywhere  now- 
adays. And  the  world  seems  to  me  to  shrink  in 
consequence.  Shrink! — by  Jove! — it's  no  bigger 
than  a  billiard  ball !" 

Miss  Letty  smiled  and  said  "  sweet"  to  her  bull- 
finch, who  straightway  warbled  with  delightful  in- 
accuracy the  quaint  air  of  "  The  Whistling  Coon." 

'*  Bravo !  Bravo !"  exclaimed  Major  Desmond, 
after  listening  attentively  to  the  little  bird's  per- 
formance. "  Now,  why  the  chap  couldn't  do  that 
for  me  I  can't  understand.  I  have  been  chirruping 
to  him  till  my  tongue  aches,  and  couldn't  get  a 
note  out  of  him.  Only  a  wink.  You  just  say 
*  sweet,'  and  off  he  starts.  Well,  and  what  have 
you  been  doing  with  yourself,  Letty?  You  look 
very  fit." 

"  Oh,  I'm  always  '  fit,'  as  you  call  it,"  said  Miss 
Leslie,  placidly.  "  I  live  the  same  quiet  life  month 
after  month,  you  know,  and  I  suppose  it's  scarcely 
possible  for  anything  to  go  very  wrong  with  me. 
I  have  passed  through  my  storm  and  stress.  The 
days  go  by  now  all  in  the  same  even  monotonous 
way."     • 

Major  Desmond  took  two  or  three  turns  up  and 
down  the  room. 

"  Well,  if  you  find  it  even  and  monotonous  to  be 
doing  good  all  your  time,"  he  observed,  "  I  can 
only  say  I  wish  a  few  more  people  would  indulge 

54 


BOY. 

in  monotony!  But  don't  you  mean  to  have  a 
change " 

"  Oh,  I  have  provided  a  httle  distraction  for 
myself,"  said  Miss  Letty,  smihng  demurely.  "  I 
have  got  a  young  man  to  stay  with  me  for  a  few 
days." 

"  Young  man !"    exclaimed  the  major.     "  Well, 

upon  my  word "     Here  he  stopped  short,  for 

at  that  moment  Boy,  attired  in  his  best  suit  of  white 
flannel,  his  face  shining  with  recent  ablutions,  and 
his  golden  hair  brushed  into  a  shining  aureola  of 
curls  round  his  brow,  trotted  into  the  room  with 
a  cheerful  confidence  and  assertiveness  quite  won- 
derful to  see. 

"  UUo,  major!"  he  exclaimed.  "  Zoo  tum  to  see 
Boy?" 

Major  Desmond  rose  to  the  occasion  at  once. 

"Of  course,"  he  said;  and  lifting  Boy  in  his 
arms  he  set  him  on  his  broad  shoulder, — "  of 
course  I  have  come  to  see  you.  Impossible  to  keep 
away,  knowing  you  to  be  here !" 

Boy  chuckled. 

"  Me  tum  to  stay  wiz  Kiss-Letty,"  he  announced. 

"  So  I  perceive,"  replied  the  major.  And  turn- 
ing to  Miss  Leslie,  he  said,  "  This  is  the  young 
man,  eh?  Letty!  Well,  however  did  yciu  manage 
to  get  hold  of  him?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  at  dinner,"  she  an- 
swered, in  a  low  tone.    "  You  will  stay  and  dine?" 

"  With  pleasure.     In  fact,  I  hoped  you  would 


55 


BOY. 

ask  me,"  responded  the  major  frankly,  "  I'm  sick 
of  club  food." 

Boy,  from  his  lifted  position  on  the  major's 
shoulder  had  been  quietly  surveying  everything  in 
the  room.  He  now  pointed  to  a  copy  of  Burne- 
Jones's  "  Golden  Stair." 

"  Pitty  ladies,"  he  remarked. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Major  Desmond,  "very  pitty! 
All  so  good  and  sweet  and  lovely,  aren't  they,  Boy? 
Each  one  sweeter,  gooder,  lovelier  as  they  comCj 
and  all  so  full  of  pleasant  thoughts  that  they  have 
almost  grown  alike.  One  ideal  of  goodness  taking 
many  forms." 

He  spoke  to  himself  now,  and  not  to  Boy,  and 
his  eyes  rested  musingly  on  Miss  Letty.  She  was 
just  setting  a  large  vase  of  roses  on  the  grand 
piano.  She  looked  from  his  distance  a  very  gen- 
tle, fragile  lady,  dainty  and  elegant  too,  almost 
young. 

"  Kiss-Letty  wiz  ze  roses,"  observed  Boy. 

"  Just  so,"  agreed  the  Major.  "  And  that  is 
where  she  always  is,  Boy.  Roses  mean  everything 
that  is  good  and  sweet  and  wholesome,  and  I 
should  not  wonder  if  Kiss-Letty  was  not  some- 
thing of  a  rose  itself  in  her  way." 

"Oh,  Dick!"  expostulated  Miss  Letty.  "How 
can  you  talk  such  nonsense  to  the  child !  What 
flattery  to  an  old  woman  like  me!" 

"  Boy  doesn't  know  whether  I'm  talking  non- 
sense or  the  utmost  wisdom,"  responded  the  ma- 
jor, undauntedly;   "  and  as  I  have  often  told  you, 

56 


BOY. 

you  will  never  be  old  to  me,  Letty.  You  are  the 
best  friend  I  ever  had,  and  if  friends  are  not  the 
roses  of  life,  I  should  like  to  know  what  flowers 
they  do  represent?  And  what  I  have  said  before, 
I  say  again, — that  I'm  ready  to  marry  you  to- 
morrow if  you'll  have  me." 

"  Oh,  dear  me!"  sighed  Miss  Leslie,  with  a  little 
tremulous  laugh.  "  Just  think !  Saying  such  a 
thing  before  Boy!" 

"  Boy !  I  guarantee  he  doesn't  understand  a 
word  I  have  been  talking  about.  Eh,  Boy?  Do 
you  know  what  I  have  been  saying  to  Kiss-Letty  ?" 

Boy  looked  down  at  him  with  a  profound  air 
of  cherubic  wisdom. 

"  Wants  marry  Kiss-Letty  'morrow  if  'ave  me," 
he  said,  solemnly. 

And  then  Major  Desmond  had  one  of  his  alarm- 
ing laughs,  a  laugh  which  threatened  to  dislodge 
Boy  altogether  from  his  position  and  throw  him 
headlong  on  the  floor.  Miss  Letty  laughed  too, 
but  more  gently,  and  on  her  pale  cheeks  there  was 
a  rosy  tinge  suggestive  of  a  blush. 

"  Well,  well !"  said  the  major,  recovering  from 
his  hilarity  at  last.  "  Boy  is  not  such  a  fool  as  he 
looks,  evidently.  There,  Letty,  I  won't  tease  you 
any  more.  But  you  are  very  obstinate,  you  know, 
— yes,  you  are.     What  does  Longfellow  say? — 

'  Trust  no  future,  howe'er  pleasant, 
Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead  : 
Act,  act,  in  the  living  present, 
Heart  within  and  God  o'erhead.' 

57 


BOY. 

That's  wholesome  stuff,  Letty.  I  Hke  Longfellow 
because  he  is  always  straight.  Some  poets  go  gig- 
getting  about  in  all  sorts  of  dark  corners  and  pop 
out  suddenly  upon  you  with  a  fire-cracker  of  a 
verse  which  you  can't  understand  a  bit  because  all 
the  meaning  fizzles  out  while  you  are  looking  at  it, 
but  Longfellow ! — '  Let  the  dead  past  bury  its 
dead.'  That's  sense,  Letty.  And  '  Act,  act,  in  the 
living  present.'  Why,  that's  sense,  too.  And  why 
don't  you  do  it?" 

"  I  think  I  try  to  do  it,"  answered  Miss  Letty, 
quietly.  "  I  like  to  be  useful  wherever  I  go.  But 
for  me  there  is  no  dead  past,  as  you  know:  it 
lives  always  with  me  and  makes  the  best  and 
sweetest  part  of  the  present." 

"  There,  I  suppose  I've  been  putting  my  foot 
in  it  again,"  muttered  Major  Desmond,  somewhat 
disconsolately.  "  You  know  I  never  meant  to  sug- 
gest that  you  did  not  do  all  the  good  you  could, 
and  more  than  is  necessary,  in  your  life,  but  what 
I  see  in  Longfellow's  line  is  that  you  should  'Act, 
act,  in  the  living  present'  for  yourself  Letty.  For 
yourself — make  yourself  happy,  as  well  as  others 
— make  me  happy!  Now,  wouldn't  that  be  a 
praiseworthy  deed?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Miss  Letty,  smiling. 
"  For  you  deserve  to  be  much  happier  than  I  could 
ever  make  you.  You  know  there  are  many  charm- 
ing young  women  you  could  marry." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  anything  of  the  sort,"  said 
the  major,  decisively.     "  The  young  women  of  the 

58 


BOY. 

present  day  are  all  hussies,  brazen-faced  hussies, 
in  my  opinion.  Girls  don't  blush  any  more  nowa- 
days ;  men  blush  for  them.  No,  you're  not  going 
to  get  rid  of  me  in  that  way,  Letty.  At  my  age 
I'm  not  going  to  be  such  a  vain  old  ass  as  to  go 
smirking  after  girls  who  would  only  laugh  at  me 
behind  my  back.  I  don't  believe  in  philandering, 
but  I  believe  in  love, — yes,  love  at  all  ages  and  in 
all  seasons, — but  it  must  be  the  real  thing  and  no 
sham  about  it."  Here  he  stopped,  for  Boy  was 
wriggling  on  his  shoulder  and  showing  unmis- 
takable signs  of  wishing  to  go  free,  so  he  gently 
set  him  down.  "  There  you  are,  little  chap ;  and 
there  you  go,  straight  for  the  roses  and  Kiss-Letty. 
Lucky  rascal !"  This  as  Boy  trotted  up  to  Miss 
Leslie  and  stretched  his  short  arms  caressingly 
round  her  soft  lace  skirts. 

"Where's  booful  pick-shures?"  he  demanded. 
"  Boy  likes  pick-shures." 

Miss  Leslie  then  bethought  herself  that  she  had 
promised  he  should  see  some  "  booful  pick-shures" 
when  he  came  into  the  drawing-room;  and  turn- 
ing towards  a  pile  of  editions  de  luxe  in  large 
quarto  of  famous  works  such  as  "  Don  Quixote," 
"  Idylls  of  the  King,"  and  Dante's  "  Divina  Corn- 
media,"  she  hesitated. 

"  Which  shall  I  give  him,  Dick?"  she  asked  the 
major. 

"  Put  'em  all  on  the  floor  and  let  him  choose 
for  himself,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  believe  in  treating 
children  like  lambs  and  birds, — let  them  frisk  and 

59 


BOY. 

fly  about  in  the  fields  of  general  information  as 
they  like;  choose  their  own  bits  of  grass,  as  it 
were.  Now,  here's  a  quintessence  of  brain  for 
you."  And  he  lifted  four  large  volumes  off  the 
side-table  where  they  generally  stood  and  placed 
them  on  the  floor.  "  Come  here.  Boy !  Shake- 
speare, Dante,  Cervantes,  Tennyson.  Never  heard 
of  'em,  did  you  ?  No.  But  you  will  probably  have 
the  pleasure  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  all  four 
of  'em  in  a  few  years.  That's  where  the  wonder- 
ful immortality  of  genius  comes  in, — the  dead 
author  is  able  to  spiritually  shake  hands  with  and 
talk  to  each  and  every  generation  which  follows 
him.  There  is  a  wonderful  secret  in  the  power  of 
expressed  thought  if  we  could  only  fathom  it. 
Now,  whom  are  you  going  for  first?" 

Boy  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  considered.  One 
or  two  of  the  big  books  he  opened  cautiously  and 
looked  in,  as  though  expecting  to  see  some  strange 
living  object  inside;  then  he  shut  them  quickly, 
smiling  mysteriously  to  himself  the  while.  Then 
in  the  same  doubtful  way  he  peeped  into  the  second 
volume  of  Dante  entitled  "  Paradiso,"  and  lo !  a 
picture  of  angels  ascending  and  descending,  one 
of  Dore's  most  wonderful  conceptions  of  forms 
of  light  portrayed  in  a  dazzling  atmosphere,  and 
his  blue  eyes  sparkled;  he  opened  the  book  wider 
and  wider,  till  the  whole  page  burst  upon  his  view, 
whereupon  he  curled  down  closer  still  and  stared 
silently.  Miss  Letty  seated  herself  in  a  low  chair, 
and  took  out  some  dainty  embroidery,  and  while 

60 


BOY. 

her  swift  needle  went  in  and  out  with  a  bright- 
coloured  silk  behind  it,  which  wove  a  flower  as  it 
moved,  she  watched  the  little  fellow,  and  Major 
Desmond,  sitting  opposite  to  her,  did  the  same. 
The  bull-finch  began  a  scrap  of  his  "  aria,"  but 
broke  off  to  preen  his  wing,  and  there  was  a  silence 
in  the  pretty  room,  while  Boy's  innocent  little  face 
drooped  in  a  rapture  over  the  pictured  scene  of 
heavenly  glory.  Not  a  word  did  he  utter,  but 
merely  drew  a  long  breath  like  a  sigh,  and  his 
eyes  darkened  with  an  expression  of  wistful 
gravity.  Then  he  turned  over  a  few  more  pages 
and  came  upon  that  most  exquisite  "  Cross"  of 
Dore's  imagination,  where  the  dying  Saviour  of 
the  world  hangs  crucified,  but  is  surrounded  at 
every  point  by  angels.  This  seemed  to  fascinate 
liim  more  than  the  other,  and  he  remained  absorbed 
for  many  minutes  enrapt  and  speechless.  Some 
unaccountable  influence  held  Miss  Leslie  and  her 
old  friend,  Dick  Desmond,  silent  too.  The 
thoughts  of  both  were  very  busy.  The  major  had 
a  secret  in  his  soul  which,  had  he  declared  it,  would 
have  well-nigh  killed  Letitia  Leslie.  He  knew  that 
the  man  she  had  loved,  and  whose  memory  she 
honoured  with  such  faithful  devotion,  had  been 
nothing  but  a  heartless  scamp,  who  in  an  un- 
guarded moment  had  avowed  to  him,  Major  Des- 
mond, that  he  was  "  going  to  throw  over  Letty 
when  he  got  back  from  India,  as  he  was  '  on'  with 
a  much  prettier  and  wealthier  woman."  But  he 
had  never  "  got  back  from  India,"  to  carry  out  his 

6i 


BOY. 

intention;  death  had  seized  him  in  the  heyday  of 
his  career,  and  Letty  beUeved  he  had  died  loving 
her,  and  her  only.  Who  would  have  undeceived 
her?  Who  would  have  poisoned  the  faith  of  that 
simple,  trusting  heart?  Not  Dick  Desmond,  cer- 
tainly; though  he  had  himself  loved  her  for  fully 
twenty  years,  and,  being  of  a  steadfast  nature,  had 
found  it  impossible  to  love  anyone  else.  And  he 
was  more  content  to  have  her  as  a  friend  than  to 
have  the  most  charming  "  other  woman"  as  a  wife. 
And  he  had  jogged  on  quietly  till  now — well,  now 
— he  was  fifty  and  Letty  was  forty-five. 

"  We're  getting  on, — by  Jove,  yes ! — we're  get- 
ting on,"  mused  Dick.  "  And  just  think  what  that 
dead  rascal  out  in  India  has  cost  us!  Our  very 
lives!  All  sacrificed!  Well,  never  mind!  I 
would  not  spoil  Letty's  belief  in  her  sweetheart 
for  the  world." 

And  yet  he  could  not  help  feeling  it  to  be  a  trifle 
"  hard,"  as  he  felt  the  charm  of  Letty's  quiet 
presence,  and  saw  Boy  bending  over  Dore's  pic- 
ture of  the  Cross. 

"  If — if  she  would  have  had  me,  we  might  have 
had  a  child  of  our  own  like  that,"  he  mused,  dole- 
fully, "  and  as  it  is,  the  poor  little  chap  has  got 
a  drunken  beast  for  a  father  and  a  slovenly  fool 
for  a  mother.  Well,  well,  God  arranges  things 
in  a  queer  way,  and  I  must  say  without  irrever- 
ence, it  doesn't  seem  at  all  a  clear  or  a  just  way 
to  me.  Why  the  innocent  should  suffer  for  the 
guilty  (and  they  always  do)  is  a  mystery." 

62 


BOY. 

Letty,  meanwhile,  was  thinking  too.  Such  sweet 
and  holy  thoughts ! — thoughts  of  her  dead  lover, 
her  ''  brave,  true  Harry,"  as  she  was  wont  to  call 
him  in  her  own  mind,  a  mind  which  was  as  white 
and  pure  as  the  "  Taj-Mahal,"  and  which  en- 
shrined this  same  "  Harry"  in  its  midst  as  an 
heroic  figure  of  stately  splendour  and  godlike 
honour.  No  man  was  ever  endowed  by  woman 
with  more  virtues  than  Letty  gave  to  her  dead 
betrothed,  and  her  faith  in  him  was  so  perfect  that 
she  had  become  content  with  her  loneliness  be- 
cause she  felt  that  it  was  only  for  a  little  while, — 
that  soon  she  and  her  beloved  would  meet  again 
never  to  part.  Is  it  impossible  to  believe  that  the 
steadfast  faith  and  love  of  a  good  woman  may 
uplift  the  departed  spirit  of  an  unworthy  man  out 
of  an  uttermost  hell  by  its  force  and  purity? 
Surely  in  these  days,  when  we  are  discovering  what 
marvellous  properties  there  are  in  simple  light,  and 
the  passing  of  sound  through  space,  it  would  be 
foolish  to  deny  the  probability  of  noble  thought 
radiating  to  unmeasured  distances,  and  affecting 
for  good  those  who  are  gone  from  us,  whom  we 
loved  on  earth,  and  whose  present  state  and  form 
of  life  we  are  not  as  yet  permitted  to  behold.  Any- 
way, whatever  wonders  lie  hidden  in  waiting  for 
us  behind  Death's  dark  curtain,  it  may  be  conceded 
that  the  unfaithful  soul  of  the  man  she  loved  was 
in  no  wise  injured  by  Miss  Letty's  remembering 
tenderness  and  prayers,  but  rather  strengthened 
and  sustained.    She  was  touched  just  now  by  Boy's 

63 


BOY. 

admiration  of  the  pictured  angels,  and  to  her  always 
thoughtful  mind  there  was  something  quaint  in 
the  spectacle  of  the  little  wondering  fellow  bending 
over  the  abstruse  great  poem  of  Italy,  which  arose 
to  life  and  being  through  the  poet's  own  great 
wrong.  Little  did  the  enemies  of  Dante  dream 
that  their  names  would  be  committed  to  lasting 
execration  in  a  hell  so  immortal  as  the  "  Inferno," 
though  it  is  to  be  deplored  that  so  supreme  a  writer 
should  have  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  honour, 
by  handing  down  to  posterity,  the  names  of  those 
who  were  as  nobodies  compared  with  himself. 
However,  he,  like  other  Old-World  poets,  was  not 
permitted  to  see  his  fate  beyond  his  own  lifetime. 
We  are  wiser  in  our  generation.  We  know  that 
the  more  an  author's  work  is  publicly  praised,  the 
more  likely  it  is  to  die  quickly  and  immediately, 
and  those  who  desire  their  thoughts  to  last,  and  to 
carry  weight  with  future  generations  should  pray 
for  the  condemnation  of  their  present  compeers  in 
order  to  be  in  tune  with  the  slow  but  steady  pulse- 
beat  of  Fame.  One  has  only  to  look  back  through 
a  few  centuries  to  see  the  list  of  the  despised  who 
are  now  become  the  glorious,  and  a  study  of  con- 
temporary critics  on  the  works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott 
and  Charles  Dickens  is  a  very  wholesome  lesson 
to  the  untried  writer  of  books  who  is  afraid  of  the 
little  acrimonies  of  Fleet  Street.  To  lead  the  world 
one  must  first  be  crucified.  This  is  the  chief  les- 
son of  practical  Christianity. 

"  Rather  curious,"  said  Major  Desmond,  at  last, 
64 


BOY. 

nodding  towards  Boy,  and  speaking  softly,  as  if 
he  were  in  church,  "  how  he  seems  to  hke  those 
fanciful  things !" 

Miss  Letty  smiled. 

"Boy!" 

Boy  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"  Do  you  like  the  picture-book  ?" 

Boy  gave  no  answer  in  words.  He  merely 
nodded  and  placed  one  dumpy  hand  on  the  "  Cross 
of  Angels,"  to  keep  the  place.  Suddenly,  however, 
he  found  voice.  He  had  turned  over  a  few  more 
pages,  though  still  careful  not  to  lose  the  picture 
he  had  selected  as  his  favourite,  when  he  stopped 
and  exclaimed,  breathlessly, — 

"Boy  been  there!" 

The  major,  with  remarkable  alertness,  went 
down  on  the  floor  beside  him  and  looked  over  his 
golden  head. 

"  Boy  been  there !  Nonsense !  What !  In 
that  wonderful  garden  with  all  those  flowers  and 
trees  and  lovely  angels  flying  about !  Boy  couldn't 
get  there  if  he  tried!" 

Boy  looked  at  him  with  solemnly  reproachful 
eyes. 

"  Tell  'oo  Boy  bin  there,"  he  repeated.  "  Boy 
seen  f'owers  and  booful  people!  Boy  knows  vej:y 
well  about  it !" 

The  major  became  interested. 

"  Oh,  all  right !  I  don't  wish  to  contradict  you, 
little  chappie,"  he  said,  with  a  cheery  and  confi- 
dential air.  "  But  when  were  you  there  last,  eh?" 
5  65 


BOY. 

Boy  considered.  His  rosy  lips  tightened  and  his 
fair  brows  puckered  in  a  frown  of  mental  puzzle- 
ment. 

"  Me  dunno,"  he  replied  at  last,  "  long,  long 
time  'go,  awfoo  long!"  And  he  gave  a  deep  sigh. 
"  Dunno  'ow  long," — here  he  studied  the  picture 
again  with  an  approving  air  of  familiarity, — "  but 
Boy  'members  it:  pitty  p'ace,  pitty  f'owers,  all 
bwight,  awfoo  bwight ! — 'ess !  me  'members  it !" 

The  major  got  up  from  his  knees,  dusted  his 
trousers,  and  looked  quizzically  at  Miss  Letty. 

''  Odd  little  rascal,"  he  observed,  sotto  voce. 
"  Doesn't  know  a  bit  what  he  is  jabbering  about." 

Miss  Letty's  soft  blue  eyes  rested  on  the  child 
thoughtfully. 

"  I  am  not  sure  about  that,  Dick,"  she  said. 
"  We  are  rather  arrogant,  we  old  worldly-wise 
people,  in  our  estimate  of  children.  Boy  may  re- 
member where  he  came  from,  and  the  imagination 
of  a  great  artist  may  have  recalled  to  him  a  true 
reality." 

Her  voice  was  very  sweet,  her  face  expressed  a 
faith  and  hope  which  made  it  beautiful ;  and  Dick 
Desmond,  in  his  quick  impulsive  fashion,  caught 
one  of  her  little  white  hands  and  raised  it  to  his 
lips  with  all  the  gallant  grace  of  a  soldier  and  a 
gentleman. 

"  God  bless  you,  Letty !"  he  said,  heartily.  "  I 
know  very  well  where  you  came  from,  and  I  don't 
want  any  picture  but  yourself  to  remind  me  of  the 
fact." 

66 


CHAPTER    IV. 

That  evening,  after  Boy  had  gone  to  bed,  Miss 
Leslie  and  the  major  discussed  the  possibiHties  of 
his  future  with  great  and  affectionate  interest. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Desmond,  "  it  is  a  splendid 
chance  for  the  boy, — but  Letty,  that  is  just  the 
very  reason  that  I  am  afraid  he  will  not  be  allowed 
to  have  it.  The  affairs  of  humanity  are  arranged 
in  a  very  curiously  jumbled-up  fashion,  and  I  have 
always  found  that  when  some  specially  good  luck 
appears  about  to  favour  a  deserving  person,  some- 
thing unfavourable  comes  in  the  way  and  prevents 
him  getting  it.  And  Fortune  frequently  shov^ers 
her  choicest  gifts  on  the  most  unworthy  scoundrels, 
male  and  female,  that  burden  this  earth's  surface. 
It's  odd — it's  unfair — but  it's  true." 

"  Not  always,"  said  Miss  Leslie,  gently.  "  You 
really  must  not  get  into  the  habit  of  looking  on  the 
worst  side  of  life,  Dick." 

"  I  won't,"  responded  the  major,  promptly,  "  at 
least,  not  when  you're  looking  at  me.  Out  of  your 
sight  I  can  do  as  I  like." 

Miss  Letty  laughed.  Then  she  returned  to  the 
chief  subject  of  interest. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  "  it  is  not  as  if  the  D'Arcy- 
Muirs  were  rich,  and  had  plenty  of  opportunities 
for  their  son's  advance  in  life.    They  certainly  have 

67 


BOY. 

enough  to  live  comfortably  on,  if  they  are  frugal 
and  careful,  but  the  man  is  so  incorrigible " 

"  And  the  woman,"  put  in  Major  Desmond. 

"  Well,  yes,  she  too  is  incorrigible,  in  another 
way;  but  after  all  slovenliness  can  scarcely  be 
called  a  sin." 

"  I  think  it  can,"  said  the  major,  emphatically. 
''  A  slovenly  woman  is  an  eyesore,  and  creates  dis- 
cord and  discomfort  by  her  very  appearance.  She 
is  a  walking  offence.  And  when  slovenliness  is 
combined  with  obstinacy, — by  Jove,  Letty!  I  tell 
you  pigs  going  the  wrong  way  home  are  easy 
driving  compared  to  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir !" 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  and  for  a  moment  Miss  Leslie's 
even  brows  puckered  in  a  little  vexed  line.  "  And 
her  obstinacy  is  of  such  a  strange  kind, — all  about 
the  merest  trifles.  She  argues  on  the  question  of 
a  tea-cup  or  a  duster  to  the  extreme  verge  of  silli- 
ness, but  in  important  matters,  such  as  the  health 
or  well-being  of  her  husband,  or  of  Boy,  she  lets 
everything  go  to  pieces  without  a  word  of  pro- 
test." 

"Delightful  creature!"  murmured  the  major, 
sipping  his  glass  of  port  wine  with  a  relish.  They 
were  at  dessert,  and  he  was  very  comfortable, — 
pleased  with  the  elegance  of  the  table  which  glis- 
tened with  old  silver,  delicate  glass,  and  tastefully 
arranged  flowers,  and  still  more  pleased  with  the 
grace  and  kindness  of  his  gentle  hostess.  "  I  re- 
member her  before  Jim  married  her.  A  handsome, 
large  creature  with  a  slow  smile, — one  of  those 


BOY. 

smiles  which  begin  in  the  exact  middle  of  the  lips, 
spread  to  the  corners,  and  gradually  widen  all  over 
the  face, — an  india-rubber  smile,  I  call  it;  but  the 
men  who  took  to  her  in  her  young  days  used  to 
rave  over  her  smile,  and  one  idiot  said  she  had 
'  magnificent  maternal  brows,  like  the  Niobe  in 
Florence.'  Good  old  Niobe!  Yet,  Letty,  there 
are  a  certain  set  of  fellows  who  always  lose  their 
heads  on  large  women ;  the  larger  the  better,  give 
you  my  word !  They  never  consider  that  the  large 
girl  will  become  a  larger  matron,  and  unless  at- 
tacked by  a  wasting  disease  (which  heaven  fore- 
fend!)  will  naturally  grow  larger  every  year.  And 
I  tell  you,  Letty,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  that 
kills  a  romantic  passion  so  surely  and  hopelessly  as 
fat !  Ah,  you  may  laugh !  but  it  is  a  painful  truth. 
Poetry,  moonlight,  music,  kisses,  all  that  pleasant 
stuff  and  nonsense  melt  before  fat.  I  have  never 
met  a  man  yet  who  was  in  love  with  a  fat,  really 
fat  woman !  And  if  a  slim  girl  marries  and  gets 
fat  in  the  years  to  come,  her  husband,  poor  chap, 
may  deplore  it,  deeply  deplore  it,  but  it's  very  dis- 
tressing, he  cannot  help  it,  his  romance  dies  under 
it.  Dies  utterly!  Ah,  we're  weak  creatures,  we 
men,  we  cannot  stand  fat!  We  like  plumpness; 
oh,  yes !  We  like  round,  rosy  curves  and  dimples, 
but  not  actual  fat.  Now,  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  will 
become — indeed  has  become — fat." 

"  Dear  me,"   and  Miss  Leslie  laughed ;    "  you 
really  are  quite  eloquent,  Dick  I    I  never  heard  you 


69 


BOY. 

go  on  in  this  way  before.  Poor  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir!     She  really  has  no  alternative " 

''No  alternative  but  to  become  fat?"  enquired 
the  major,  solemnly,  glaring  over  his  port  wine. 

"  Now,  you  know  I  don't  mean  it  in  that  way," 
laughed  Miss  Leslie.  "  You  really  are  incorri- 
gible !  What  I  wished  to  point  out  was,  that  when 
a  woman  finds  that  her  husband  doesn't  care  a  bit 
how  she  looks  or  what  she  wears,  she  is  apt  to  be- 
come careless." 

"  It  doesn't  follow  that  because  a  man  is  a  churl 
a  woman  should  lose  her  self-respect,"  said  the 
major.  "  Surely  she  should  take  a  pride  in  being 
clean  and  looking  as  well  as  she  can  for  her  own 
sake.     Then  in  this  particular  case  there  is  Boy." 

"  Yes, — there  is  Boy,"  agreed  Miss  Letty,  medi- 
tatively;  "  and  he  certainly  does  notice  things." 

"  Notice  things  ?  I  should  think  he  does !  He 
is  always  noticing.  He  notices  his  mother's  un- 
tidiness, and  he  notices  his  father's  disgraceful- 
ness.  If  I  were  Jim  D'Arcy-Muir  I  should  be 
ashamed  to  meet  that  little  chap's  eyes." 

Miss  Letty  sighed. 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  asked,  after  a  pause,  "  they 
will  let  me  have  him?" 

The  major  considered;  and  for  some  minutes 
sat  twirling  the  ends  of  his  white  moustache  re- 
flectively. 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Lettty,  I  don't,"  he 
said  at  last ;  "  I  don't  believe  they  will  for  a  mo- 
ment.   Some  parents  would  refuse  your  offer  on  ac- 

70 


BOY. 

count  of  their  own  love  and  affection  for  the  child, 
and  their  own  natural  desire  not  to  part  with  him. 
That  will  not  be  the  D'Arcy-Muirs'  reason.  They 
will  simply  argue  that  you  are  trying  to  '  patronise' 
them.  It  will  be  exactly  like  their  muddled  minds 
to  put  it  that  way.  They  will  say,  *  she  thinks  we 
are  going  to  put  our  son  under  obligations  to  her 
for  her  money.'  And  though  they  conduct  them- 
selves like  pigs,  they  think  a  great  deal  of  them- 
selves in  a  '  county-family'  fashion.  No,  Letty, 
I'm  afraid  you  won't  get  a  chance  of  doing  any 
good  in  that  quarter.  But  if  you  like  I  will'  take 
soundings, — that  is,  I  will  just  suggest  the  idea  of 
such  a  thing  and  see  how  they  take  it.  What  do 
you  say?" 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  would !"  said  Miss  Leslie, 
earnestly.  "  You  see  you  know  Captain  D'Arcy- 
Muir " 

"  Well,  in  a  way ;  yes,  I  know  him  in  a  way," 
corrected  the  major.  "  I  used  to  know  him  better 
than  I  do  now.  He  was  never  in  my  regiment, 
thank  the  Lord !  But  I  will  try  to  get  hold  of  him 
in  a  sober  moment  and  see  what  can  be  done.  But 
I  don't  give  out  any  hopes  of  him." 

"  Oh,  Dick !"   sighed  Miss  Letty. 

'*  Well,  I  shall  be  very  sorry  for  your  disappoint- 
ment, Letty,  very  sorry,  and  sorrier  still  for  the 
little  chap,  for  I  think  his  life  literally  hangs  on  the 
balance  of  this  chance.  If  he  is  not  allowed  to  take 
it,  all  the  worse  for  him ;  he  will  come  to  no  good, 
I  fear." 

71 


BOY. 

"  Don't  say  that !"  pleaded  Miss  Leslie,  with  pain 
in  her  voice.     "  Don't  say  that !" 

"  All  right,  I  won't  say  it,"  said  the  major;  ex- 
pressing, however,  in  his  face  and  tone  of  voice 
that  he  would  probably  think  it  all  the  same.  "  But 
the  world  is  a  bad  place  to  fight  in  if  you  are  not 
thoroughly  well  equipped  for  the  battle.  God  made 
the  world,  so  we  are  told,  but  I  doubt  whether  He 
wished  it  to  be  quite  as  overcrowded  as  it  is  just 
now.  All  the  professions,  all  the  trades,  all  the 
arts,  overdone !  Army  no  go,  navy  no  go.  If  you 
are  a  soldier  and  get  any  chance  of  facing  fire  you 
know  just  what  your  reward  is  likely  to  be,  unless 
you  are  a  Kitchener.  You  may  get  a  V.  C,  and 
after  that  the  workhouse,  like  some  of  the  Crimean 
heroes.  And  in  the  navy  you  get  literally  nothing 
but  very  poor  pay.  The  best  thing  for  a  man  now 
is  to  be  an  explorer,  and  even  when  you  are  that, 
the  world  cannot  be  persuaded  to  believe  that  you 
have  explored  anything,  or  been  anywhere.  You 
have  simply  been  sitting  at  home  and  reading  up !" 
He  laughed,  and  then  went  on,  "  If  you  get  Boy, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  with  him?" 

"  I  shall  see  what  he  likes  to  do  best  himself," 
said  Letty. 

"  At  present  he  likes  to  hug  you  and  see  'pick- 
shures'  of  heavenly  places,"  said  the  major. 
"  That's  a  bad  sign,  Letty !  Woman  and  Art  spells 
ruin,  like  theatrical  speculation !  Well !  Come  and 
have  a  game  of  chess  with  me  before  I  go  home 
to  my  lonely  bachelor  rooms;    it  is  really  too  bad 

72 


BOY. 

of  you  to  make  a  sour  old  man  of  me  in  this 
way !" 

Miss  Leslie  laughed  heartily. 

"  No  one  will  ever  call  you  a  sour  old  man, 
Dick,"  she  said,  as  she  rose  from  the  table,  "  you 
are  the  most  genial  and  generous-hearted  fellow 
I  know." 

"  Then  why  won't  you  have  me?"  pleaded  Des- 
mond. 

"  Oh,  you  know  why !"  said  Letty.  "  What  is 
the  use  of  going  over  it  all  again?" 

"  Going  over  it  all;  yes,  I  know!"  said  the  ma- 
jor, dismally,  "  You  have  got  it  into  your  head 
that  if  you  were  to  marry  me,  and  that  then  after- 
wards we  died,  as  we  shall  do,  and  went  to  heaven 
— which  is  a  question — you  would  find  your  Harry 
up  there  in  the  shape  of  a  stern,  reproving  angel, 
ready  to  scold  you  for  having  a  little  happiness  and 
sympathy  on  earth  when  he  was  not  there.  Now, 
if  things  are  to  be  arranged  in  that  way,  some 
folks  will  be  in  awful  trouble.  The  ladies  who 
have  had  several  husbands,  the  husbands  who  have 
had    several    wives,    stern    reproving    angels    all 

around Good  gracious,   what  a  row  there 

will  be !  Fact  is  fact,  Letty ;  there  cannot  possibly 
be  peace  in  heaven  under  such  circumstances !" 

"  Do  stop  talking  such  nonsense,"  said  Miss 
Leslie,  still  laughing.  "  Really,  I  begin  to  wish 
you  had  gone  abroad,  after  all." 

"  No  you  don't,"  said  Dick,  confidently,  as  he 
followed  her  into   the   drawing-room,   "  you  are 

73 


BOY. 

pleased  to  see  me,  you  know  you  are!  Hullo! 
Here's  Margaret.  What's  up?  Something  wrong 
with  Boy?" 

"  Oh  no,  sir,"  said  Margaret,  who  had  just  en- 
tered the  room ;  "  but  I  thought  perhaps  Miss  Les- 
lie would  like  to  see  him  asleep.  He  is  just  the 
bonniest  wee  bairnie !" 

"Oh,  I  must  go  and  look  at  him!"  said  Miss 
Letty,  eagerly,  "  Will  you  come  too,  Dick?" 

The  major  assented  with  alacrity,  and  they  fol- 
lowed Margaret  upstairs,  treading  softly  and  on 
tip-toe  as  they  entered  the  pretty,  airy  room  se- 
lected for  Boy's  slumbers.  It  was  a  large  room, 
and  one  corner  of  it  was  occupied  by  the  big  bed 
allotted  to  Margaret;  in  an  arched  recess,  draped 
with  white  muslin,  was  a  smaller  and  daintier 
couch,  and  here  Boy  lay  in  his  first  sleep,  his  fair 
curies  tossed  on  the  pillow,  his  round  soft  face 
rosy  with  warmth  and  health,  his  pretty  mouth 
slightly  parted  in  a  smile.  Miss  Leslie  bent  over 
him  tenderly  and  kissed  his  forehead.  Major  Des- 
mond looked  on  in  contemplative  and  somewhat 
awed  silence.  Presently  he  noticed  a  piece  of 
string  tied  to  the  little  fellow's  wrist.  Pointing  to 
it,  he  whispered,  solemnly, — 

"What's  that?" 

Margaret  smiled. 

"  Oh,  he  just  begged  me  to  get  him  a  bit  of 
string,"  she  said.  "  He  said  he  always  had  to 
fasten  his  cow  up  at  night  lest  it  should  run  away." 
Margaret  laughed.      "Bless  the  wee  lad!     And 

74 


BOY. 

there  you  see  is  the  cow  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and 
he  has  tied  it  to  the  string  in  that  way  himself!" 

"Good  gracious  me!"  said  the  major,  staring, 
"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  my  hfe !  And 
the  cow  can't  run  away!     Lucky  cow!" 

Boy  stirred  in  his  sleep  and  smiled.  A  slight 
movement  of  the  chubby  wrist  to  which  the  be- 
loved "  Dunny"  was  tied  caused  it  to  wag  its 
movable  head  automatically,  and  for  a  moment  it 
looked  quite  a  sentient  thing  nodding  wisely  over 
unexpressed  and  inexpressible  pastoral  problems. 

"  Come  away,"  then  said  Miss  Letty,  gently, 
"  we  shall  wake  him  if  we  remain  any  longer." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  major,  dreamily,  "  we  shall 
wake  him !  And  then  the  cow  might  bolt,  or  take 
to  tossing  somebody  on  its  horns,  which  would 
be  very  alarming.  God  bless  my  soul !  What  a 
little  chap  it  is !  Beginning  to  look  after  a  cow  at 
his  time  of  life !  A  budding  farmer,  upon  my 
word!  Letty,  Australia  is  the  place  for  him, — a 
wild  prairie  and  cattle,  you  know, — he  is  evidently 
a  born  rancher!" 

Letty  laughed,  and  they  left  the  room  together. 
Margaret  watched  them  as  they  went  downstairs, 
and  gave  a  little  regretful  sigh. 

"  Poor,  dear  Miss  Letty !"  she  thought.  "  The 
sweetest  lady  that  ever  lived,  and  no  man  has  ever 
been  wise  enough  to  find  it  out  and  marry  her." 

She  bent  over  Boy's  bed  and  adjusted  the  cover- 
let to  keep  him  warm,  then  lowering  the  light,  left 
him  sleeping  peacefully,  with  "  Dunny"  on  guard. 

75 


CHAPTER    V. 

It  is  a  trite  axiom,  but  no  less  true  than  trite, 
that  we  are  always  happiest  when  we  are  most 
unconscious  of  happiness, — when  the  simple  fact 
of  mere  existence  is  enough  for  us, — when  we  do 
not  know  how,  or  when,  or  where  the  causes  for 
our  pleasure  come  in,  and  when  we  are  content  to 
live  as  the  birds  and  flowers  live,  just  for  the  one 
day's  innocent  delight,  untroubled  by  any  thoughts 
concerning  the  past  or  the  future.  This  is  a  state 
of  mind  which  is  generally  supposed  to  vanish 
with  early  youth,  though  there  are  some  few  pecu- 
liarly endowed  natures,  sufficiently  well  poised, 
and  confident  of  the  flowing  in  of  eternal  goodness 
everywhere,  to  be  serenely  joyous  with  all  the 
trust  of  a  little  child  to  the  very  extreme  of  old 
age.  But  even  with  men  and  women  not  so  for- 
tunately situated  the  days  when  they  were  happy 
without  knowing  it  remain  put  away  in  their 
memories  as  the  sweetest  time  of  life,  and  recur 
to  them  again  and  again  with  more  or  less  poig- 
nancy, when  pain  and  disappointment,  deceit, 
cruelty,  and  harshness  unwind  the  rose-coloured 
veil  of  romance  from  persons  and  things  and  show 
them  the  world  at  its  worst.  Boy,  in  the  house 
of  Miss  Letitia  Leslie,  was  just  now  living  the 
unconscious  life,  and  making  for  himself  such  a 
picture  gallery  of  sweet  little  souvenirs  as  were 

76 


BOY. 

destined  to  return  to  him  in  years  to  come,  sharp- 
ened with  pain,  and  embittered  by  a  profitless  re- 
gret. Every  morning  he  rose  up  to  some  new  and 
harmless  delight, — among  surroundings  of  perfect 
sweetness  and  peace;  order,  cleanliness,  kindness, 
good  humour,  and  cheerfulness  were  the  hourly 
investiture  of  the  household;  and  after  he  had 
been  with  "  Kiss-Letty"  two  or  three  days  Boy 
began  dimly  to  wonder  whether  there  really  was 
such  an  individual  as  "  Poo  Sing"  or  such  a  large 
lady  as  "  Muzzy"  in  the  world.  Not  that  the  little 
fellow  was  forgetful  of  his  parents;  but  the 
parents  themselves  were  of  so  hazy,  and  vague, 
and  undeterminate  a  character  that  the  individu- 
ality of  the  servant  Gerty  was  far  more  real  and 
actual  to  the  infant  mind  of  their  son  than  their 
distinguished  personalities.  It  is  to  be  feared  that 
Boy  would  have  been  but  faintly  sorry  had  he 
been  told  he  was  never  to  see  his  "  kind  good 
Muzzy"  any  more.  This  was  not  Boy's  fault,  by 
any  means :  the  blame  rested  entirely  with  the 
"  kind  good  Muzzy"  herself.  And  probably,  if 
Boy  had  felt  any  regrets  about  it,  they  would  have 
been  more  for  the  parting  from  the  "  Poo  Sing" 
gentleman  who  was  so  often  ill.  For  the  delusive 
notion  of  chronic  illness  on  the  part  of  "  Poo  Sing" 
had  got  firmly  fixed  into  Boy's  little  head ;  he  felt 
the  situation  to  be  serious;  he  was  full  of  a  wist- 
ful and  wondering  compassion,  and  he  had  a  vague 
idea  that  his  Dads  did  not  get  on  so  well  without 
him.  But  this  he  kept  to  himself.  He  was  for  the 
77 


BOY. 

present  perfectly  happy,  and  wished  for  no  more 
dehghtful  existence  than  that  which  he  enjoyed  in 
the  company  of  "  Kiss-Letty." 

He  was  going  through  some  wonderful  experi- 
ences of  life  as  well.  For  instance,  he  was  taken  for 
the  first  time  to  the  Zoo  and  had  a  ride  on  an  ele- 
phant, a  ride  which  filled  him  with  glory  and  terror : 
glory  that  he  could  ride  an  elephant, — for  he 
thought  it  was  entirely  his  own  skill  that  guided 
and  controlled  the  huge  beast's  gentle  meanderings 
along  the  smoothly  rolled  paths  of  the  gardens, — 
and  terror  lest,  skilful  and  powerful  though  he  was, 
he  should  fall,  deeply  humiliated,  out  of  the  howdah 
in  which  he  was  proudly  seated.  Then  he  was 
taken  to  Earl's  Court  Exhibition,  and  became  so 
wearied  with  the  wonders  there  shown  to  him  from 
all  parts  of  the  w^orld — there  were  so  many  won- 
ders and  the  world  seemed  so  immense — that  he 
fell  fast  asleep  while  going  round  a  strange  pond 
in  a  strange  boat  called  a  Venetian  gondola,  and 
Major  Desmond  took  him  up  in  his  arms,  and  he 
remembered  nothing  more  till  he  found  himself  in 
his  little  bed  with  Margaret  tucking  him  up  and 
making  him  cosey. 

Then  there  were  the  days  when  he  was  not  taken 
out  sight-seeing  at  all,  but  simply  stayed  with  Miss 
Letty  and  accompanied  her  everywhere,  and  he 
was  not  sure  that  he  did  not  like  these  times  best 
of  all.  For  after  his  dinner  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  and  before  they  went  for  their  drive,  "  Kiss- 
Letty"  would  take  him  on  her  knee  and  tell  him  the 
78 


BOY. 

most  beautiful  and  amazing  fairy  stories, — descrip- 
tions of  aerial  palaces  and  glittering-winged  elves, 
which  fascinated  him  and  kept  him  in  open- 
mouthed  ecstasy;  and,  somehow  or  other,  he 
learned  a  good  deal  out  of  what  he  heard.  Miss' 
Leslie  was  not  a  brilliant  woman,  but  she  was 
distinctly  cultured  and  clever,  and  she  had  a  way 
of  narrating  some  of  the  true  histories  of  the  world 
as  though  they  were  graceful  fantasies.  In  this 
fashion  she  told  Boy  of  the  discovery  of  America 
by  Christopher  Columbus,  and  ever  afterwards  the 
famous  navigator  remained  in  Boy's  mind  as  a  sort 
of  fairy  king  who  had  made  a  new  world.  Happy 
indeed  were  all  those  first  lessons  he  received  con- 
cerning the  great  and  good  things  done  by  human- 
ity, sweet  and  refining  was  the  influence  thus  ex- 
cited upon  him,  and,  if  such  peaceful  days  could 
have  gone  on  expanding  gradually  around  his  life 
the  more  that  life  needed  them,  who  can  say  what 
might  not  have  been  the  beneficial  result?  But  it 
often  seems  as  if  some  capricious  fate  interfered 
between  the  soul  and  its  environment ;  where  hap- 
piness might  be  perfect,  the  particular  ingredient 
of  perfection  is  held  back  or  altogether  denied,  and 
truly  there  would  seem  to  be  no  good  reason  for 
this.  Stoic  philosophy  would  perhaps  suggest  that 
the  fortunate  environment  is  held  back  from  the 
individual  in  order  that  he  may  create  it  for  him- 
self, and  mould  his  own  nature  in  the  struggle; 
but,  then,  it  so  often  happens  that  this  holding 
back  affects  the  nature  that  is  not  qualified  either 

79 


BOY. 

by  birth  or  circumstances  to  enfranchise  itself.  A 
grand  environment  is  frequently  bestowed  on  a 
low  and  frivolous  character,  that  has  not  and  never 
will  have  any  appreciation  of  its  fortunate  position, 
while  all  rights,  privileges,  and  advancements  are 
obstinately  refused  to  the  soul  that  would  most 
gladly  and  greatly  have  valued  them.  And  so  it 
was  fated  to  be  with  Boy.  The  happy  days  of  his 
visit  to  Miss  Letty  came,  as  all  happy  days  must 
do,  to  an  end,  and  one  morning,  as  he  sat  at  break- 
fast eating  a  succulent  slice  of  bread-and-jam,  he 
was  startled  to  see  "  Kiss-Letty's"  blue  eyes  brim- 
ming over  with  tears.  Amazing  grief  and  fear 
took  possession  of  him;  he  put  down  his  bread- 
and-jam  and  looked  pitifully  at  his  kind  friend  and 
hostess. 

"Zoo  kyin',  Kiss-Letty,"  he  said.  "Where 
does  it  hurt  'oo?" 

Miss  Letty  tried  to  smile,  but  only  feebly  suc- 
ceeded. She  could  have  answered  that  "  it"  hurt 
her  everywhere.  "  It"  was  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir  requesting  that  Boy  might  be  re- 
turned to  his  home  that  afternoon.  And  Miss 
Letty  knew  that  this  peremptory  summons  meant 
that  her  wish  to  adopt  Boy  was  frustrated  and  that 
the  cause  was  lost.  She  looked  tenderly  at  the 
sweet  little  face  that  was  turned  so  wistfully  to 
hers,  and  said  gently,  though  with  a  slight  quiver 
about  her  lips, — 

"  Muzzy  wants  you,  darling !  I  am  to  take  you 
home  to  her  to-day." 

80 


BOY. 

Boy  gave  no  reply.  It  was  the  first  difficult 
moral  situation  of  his  life,  and  it  was  hardly  to 
be  wondered  at  that  he  found  it  almost  too  much 
for  him.  The  plain  fact  of  the  matter  was  that, 
however  much  "  Muzzy"  wanted  him,  he  did  not 
want  "  Muzzy."  Nor  did  he  at  all  wish  to  go 
home.  But  he  had  already  an  infantile  conscious- 
ness of  the  awful  "  must"  set  over  us  by  human 
wills  which,  unlike  God's  will,  are  not  always  work- 
ing for  good,  and  he  had  a  glimmering  perception 
that  he  was  bound  to  submit  to  these  inferior  or- 
ders till  the  time  came  when  he  could  create  his 
own  "  must"  and  abide  by  it.  But  he  could  not 
put  these  vague  emotions  into  speech;  all  he  did 
was  to  lose  his  appetite  for  bread-and-jam  and  to 
stare  blankly  at  "  Kiss-Letty."  She  meanwhile 
put  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir's  letter  in  her  pocket,  and 
tried  to  assume  her  usual  bright  and  cheerful  air, 
but  with  very  poor  success.  For,  in  truth,  she 
was  greatly  disappointed;  and  when  she  lifted 
Boy  out  of  his  chair  at  the  table  and  set  him  down 
on  the  floor,  with  a  very  fascinating  toy  in  the 
shape  of  a  "  merry-go-round"  moved  by  clock- 
work,— which,  however,  he  contemplated  this 
morning  with  a  faint  sense  of  the  futility  of  all 
earthly  pleasures, — she  was  vaguely  troubled  by 
presentiments  to  which  she  could  give  no  name. 
The  hours  wore  on  languidly,  and  it  was  with  a 
sense  of  something  like  relief  that  she  heard  a 
sharp  rat-tat-tat  at  the  door,  and  a  minute  after- 
wards Major  Desmond's  cheery  voice  in  the  hall, 
6  8i 


BOY. 

She  went  out  to  meet  him,  leaving  Boy  with  his 
toys  in  her  morning-room;  but  one  glance  at  his 
face  confirmed  all  her  worst  fears. 

"  It's  no  go,  Letty !"  he  said,  regretfully,  as  he 
shook  hands,  "  I've  done  my  best.  But  I'll  tell 
you  where  the  trouble  is.  It's  the  woman.  I  could 
manage  D'Arcy-Muir,  but  not  that  stout  play- 
actress.  When  D'Arcy-Muir  is  sober  he  sees 
clearly  enough,  and  realizes  quite  well  what  a 
capital  chance  it  is  for  the  little  chap;  but  there 
is  no  doing  anything  with  his  jelly-fish  of  a  wife. 
She  bridles  all  over  with  offence  at  your  proposi- 
tion,— says  she  has  her  own  ideas  for  Boy's  edu- 
cation and  future  prospects.  Nice  ideas  they  are 
likely  to  be.  Well,  it's  no  use  fretting ;  you  must 
resign  yourself  to  the  inevitable,  Letty,  and  give 
up  your  pet  project." 

Miss  Letty  listened  with  apparently  unmoved 
composure  while  he  spoke;  when  he  had  finished, 
she  said  quietly, — 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  must.  Of  course  I  cannot 
press  the  point.  One  must  not  urge  separation 
between  mother  and  child.  Oh,  yes,  I  must  give 
it  up," — this  with  a  little  pained  smile, — "  I  have 
had  to  give  up  so  many  hopes  and  joys  in  life  that 
one  more  disappointment  ought  not  to  matter  so 
much,  ought  it?  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  has  written 
to  me,  I  am  to  take  Boy  back  this  afternoon." 

The  major's  tender  heart  was  troubled,  but  he 
would  not  offer  his  friend  any  consolation.  He 
knew  that  the  least  said  the  soonest  mended  in 

82 


BOY. 

such  cases,  and  he  saw  that  Miss  Letty  was  just 
then  too  vexed  and  grieved  to  bear  many  words  even 
from  him.  So  he  went  in  to  Boy,  and  wound  up 
his  clockwork  "  merry-go-round"  for  him,  and  told 
him  fabulous  stories  of  giants, — giants  who,  though 
terrible  enough  to  hold  the  world  in  awe,  were 
yet  unable  to  resist  the  fascinations  of  "  hasty  pud- 
dings," and  killed  themselves  by  eating  too  much 
of  that  delicacy  in  an  unguarded  moment :  which 
remarkable  narratives,  in  their  grotesque  incon- 
gruity, conveyed  the  true  lesson  that  a  strong  or 
giant  mind  may  be  frequently  destroyed  by  in- 
dulgence in  one  vice,  though  Boy  was  too  young 
to  look  for  morals  in  fairy  legends,  and  accepted 
these  exciting  histories  as  veracious  facts.  And 
so  the  morning  passed  pleasantly,  after  all ;  though 
now  and  then  a  wistful  look  came  into  Boy's  eyes, 
and  a  shadow  crossed  the  placid  fairness  of  "  Kiss- 
Letty's  brow  when  either  of  the  two  chanced  to 
think  of  the  coming  parting  from  each  other. 

Boy,  however,  did  not  imagine  it  so  much  of  a 
parting  as  Miss  Letty  knew  it  would  be;  he  had 
a  firm  belief  that,  though  he  was  going  home  to 
"  Muzzy,"  he  should  still  see  a  great  deal  of  his 
"  Kiss-Letty,"  all  the  same.  She,  on  the  contrary, 
knew  enough  of  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir's  obstinate  dis- 
position to  be  quite  certain  of  the  fact  that,  because 
a  hint  had  been  thrown  out  by  Major  Desmond  as 
to  the  advantages  of  her  adopting  Boy,  she  would 
be  forced  to  see  less  of  him  than  ever.  Strange  it 
is,  and  in  a  manner  terrible,  that  the  future  of  a 

83 


BOY. 

whole  life  should  be  suspended  thus  between  two 
human  wills,  the  one  working  for  pure  beneficence, 
the  other  for  selfishness,  and  that  the  selfish  side 
should  win  the  day!  These  are  mysteries  which 
none  can  fathom;  but  it  too  often  happens  that 
a  man's  career  has  been  decided  for  good  or  evil 
by  the  amenities  or  discords  of  his  parents,  and 
their  quarrels  or  agreements  as  to  the  manner  of 
his  education. 

It  was  with  a  sad  and  sinking  heart  that  Miss 
Leslie  took  Boy,  accompanied  by  the  faithful 
"  Dunny,"  back  to  the  home  of  his  progenitors 
that  afternoon.  He  had  more  luggage  to  carry 
away  than  he  had  arrived  with:  a  brown  paper 
parcel  would  not  hold  his  numerous  toys,  nor  the 
pretty  little  suits  of  clothes  his  kind  hostess  had 
presented  him  with.  So  Major  Desmond  bought 
him  an  astonishingly  smart  portmanteau,  which 
fairly  dazzled  him,  and  into  this  most  of  his  new 
things  were  packed  by  Margaret,  who  was  sin- 
cerely sorry  to  lose  her  little  charge.  The  "  merry- 
go-round,"  being  a  Parisian  marvel  of  clockwork, 
had  a  special  case  of  its  own,  and  "  Dunny" — 
well,  "  Dunny"  was  a  privileged  cow,  and  Boy 
always  carried  it  in  his  arms.  And  thus  he  re- 
turned, Biblically  speaking,  to  the  home  of  his 
fathers,  the  house  in  Hereford  Square,  and  his 
large  "  Muzzy"  received  him  with  an  almost  dra- 
matic effusiveness. 

"  You  poor  child!"  she  exclaimed;  "  how  badly 
your  hair  has  been  brushed !    Oh,  dear,  it's  becom- 

84 


BOY. 

ing  a  perfect  mop !  We  must  have  it  cut  to-mor- 
row." 

Miss  Leslie's  cheeks  reddened  sHghtly. 

"  Surely  you  will  not  have  his  curls  cut  yet," 
she  began. 

"  My  dear  Letitia,  I  know  best,"  said  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir,  with  an  irritating  air  of  smiling 
condescension.  "  A  boy — even  a  very  young  boy 
— looks  absurd  with  long  hair.  You  have  been 
very  kind  and  nice  to  him,  I  am  sure;  but,  of 
course,  you  don't  quite  understand " 

Miss  Leslie  sat  down  opposite  her  with  a  curi- 
ously quiet  air  of  deliberation. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  for  a  few  minutes,"  she 
said.     "Is  your  husband  at  home?" 

"  No.  He  has  gone  into  the  country  for  a  few 
days.  I  am  quite  lonely!"  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir 
heaved  a  lazy  smile.  "  I  felt  I  could  not  possibly 
be  a  day  longer  without  my  son  in  the  house." 

The  extraordinary  air  of  grandiloquence  that 
she  gave  to  the  words  "  my  son  in  the  house,"  ap- 
plied to  a  child  of  barely  four  years  old,  would 
have  made  Miss  Leslie  laugh  at  any  other  time, 
but  she  was  too  preoccupied  just  now  even  to 
smile. 

"  I  think,"  she  went  on,  in  a  methodical  way, 
"  I  think  Major  Desmond  did  me  the  kindness  to 
mention  to  you  and  Captain  D'Arcy-Muir  an  idea 
I  had  concerning  Boy " 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  most  absurd  idea!"  interposed  Mrs. 
D'Arcv-Muir,  with  quite  a  solemn  reproach  in  her 

85 


BOY. 

voice.  "  Pardon  me  for  saying  so,  Letitia,  but  I 
really  am  surprised  at  you.  A  preposterous  idea, 
— to  separate  my  boy  from  me!" 

"  You  mistake,"  answered  Miss  Leslie;  "  I  had 
no  wish  to  separate  you.  You  would  have  seen 
quite  as  much  of  Boy  as  you  see  now,  or  as  you 
will  see  when  in  the  natural  course  of  things  you 
send  him  to  school.  My  sole  desire  in  the  propo- 
sition I  made,  and  which  I  asked  Major  Desmond 
to  explain,  was  to  benefit  your  dear  little  child  in 
every  possible  way.  I  am  all  alone  in  the 
world " 

"  Yes,  I  know !  So  sad !"  put  in  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  in  a  tone  of  commiseration  that  was  almost 
an  insult. 

"  And  I  have  a  large  fortune,"  pursued  Miss 
Letty,  with  unruffled  composure ;  "  when  my  time 
comes  to  die,  I  shall  probably  leave  more  than  one 
hundred  thousand  pounds " 

"  No !  You  don't  say  so !  Really,  Letitia,  you 
are  indeed  fortunate !  Why  ever  don't  you  marry? 
There  are  lots  of  poor  fellows  who  would  only  be 
too  delighted." 

"  We  can  pass  that  question,"  said  Miss  Leslie, 
patiently.  "  What  I  wish  to  point  out  to  you  is 
that  I  am  what  the  world  calls  a  fairly  wealthy 
woman,  and-that,  if  you  could  see  your  way  to  let- 
ting me  adopt  Boy  and  educate  him,  everything 
I  possessed  would  be  his  at  my  death." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  wonder  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  expansively,  "  that  you  have  taken  such  a 

86 


BOY. 

fancy  to  my  boy!  That's  quite  natural.  And 
really,  Letitia,  if  you  don't  know  how  to  dispose 
of  your  fortune  otherwise,  I  cannot  imagine  any- 
thing more  pleasant  for  you  than  to  make  him 
your  heir.  But  to  adopt  him  for  the  purpose  of 
educating  him  according  to  your  notions, — oh, 
dear,  no !    It  would  never  do !" 

"  If  he  is  not  educated  according  to  my  notions, 
he  will  certainly  not  be  my  heir,"  said  Miss  Letty, 
very  firmly.  "  He  is  just  now  at  an  age  when  any- 
thing can  be  done  with  him.  Give  me  leave  to 
take  him  out  of  the  radius  of  his  father's  unfortu- 
nate example,  and  surround  him  with  all  that  is 
healthy  and  good  and  useful,  and  I  am  sure  you 
will  not  regret  it." 

"  Dear,  no !  I  am  so  sorry  for  you !"  and 
"  Muzzy"  smiled  blandly.  "  I  feel  for  you  with  all 
my  heart,  and  I  quite  understand  your  wish  to  have 
Boy!  It  would  be  delightful  for  you,  but  I  can- 
not possibly  hear  of  it!  I  am  his  mother;  I 
could  not  part  with  him  under  any  circumstances 
whatever." 

"  You  are  quite  resolved  then  ?"  and  Miss  Leslie 
looked  at  her  steadily. 

"  Quite !  I  have  my  own  ideas  of  education, 
and  I  could  not  possibly  allow  the  slightest  inter- 
ference. My  son,"  and  here  she  swelled  visibly 
with  a  sense  of  her  own  importance,  "  will  have 
every  chance  in  life." 

"  God  grant  it !"  said  Miss  Letitia,  fervently. 
"  No   one   in   the   world    desires    his   good   more 

87 


BOY. 

heartily  than  I  do.  And  if  ever  I  can  be  of  any 
assistance  to  him  in  his  career,  I  will.  But  for 
the  present  I  will  say  good-bye, — both  to  you  and 
to  him." 

"  Are  you  going  away?"  inquired  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  with  but  a  faint  show  of  interest. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  go  to  Scotland  for  the  rest  of  the 
summer,  and  I  have  arranged  to  join  a  party  of 
friends  in  Egypt  this  winter.  So  I  shall  not  be 
here  to  interfere" — and  Miss  Letty  smiled  rather 
sadly  as  she  emphasised  the  word — "  with  Boy. 
I  hope  he  will  not  quite  forget  me." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  "  Muzzy,"  with  bland  com- 
miseration. "  But,  of  course,  you  know  children 
never  remember  anything  or  anybody  for  long. 
And  what  a  blessing  that  is,  isn't  it?" 

Miss  Letty  made  no  answer;  she  was  down  on 
the  floor  kissing  Boy. 

"  Good-bye,  darling,"  she  whispered,  "  good- 
bye! I  shall  not  see  you  for  a  while;  but  you 
will  always  love  me,  won't  you?" 

"  Alwiz  love  'oo !"  murmured  Boy,  earnestly, 
with  a  vague  sense  that  he  was  experiencing  a 
very  dreadful  emotion  which  seemed  quite  to  con- 
tract his  little  heart.  "  Alwiz !"  And  he  threw 
his  chubby  arms  around  Miss  Letty's  neck  and 
kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  Dear  little  man !"  she  said,  with  almost  a  half 
sob.     "  Poor  little  man!     God  bless  you!" 

Then  she  rose,  and,  turning  to  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  held  out  her  hand. 

88 


BOY. 

"  Good-bye !"  she  said.  "  If  you  should  ever 
change  your  mind  about  Boy,  please  let  me  know 
at  once.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  him  at  any  time 
between  now  and  till  he  is  seven;  after  that  it 
would  be  no  use,  as  all  his  first  impressions  will 
have  taken  root  too  deeply  in  his  nature  to  be 
eradicated." 

"Dear  me!"  exclaimed  "  Muzzy,"  with  a  wide 
smile,  "  you  are  really  quite  a  blue-stocking,  Leti- 
tia !  You  talk  just  like  a  book  of  philosophy — or 
degeneration;  which  is  it?  I  never  can  remem- 
ber! I  always  wonder  what  people  mean  when 
they  try  to  be  philosophic  and  talk  about  impres- 
sions on  the  mind!  Because,  of  course,  impres- 
sions are  always  coming  and  going,  you  know; 
nothing  ever  remains  longer,  to  make  a  lasting 
effect." 

Miss  Letty  said  no  more.  It  was  useless  to  talk 
to  such  a  woman  about  anything  but  the  merest 
commonplaces.  The  ins  and  outs  of  thought;  the 
strange  slight  threads  of  feeling  and  memory  of 
which  the  character  of  a  human  being  is  gradually 
woven  like  a  web;  the  psychic  influences,  the  ma- 
terial surroundings,  the  thousand  and  one  things 
that  help  to  strengthen  or  to  enervate  the  brain 
and  heart  and  spirit, — all  these  potentialities  were 
unknown  to  the  bovine  female  who  waxed  fat  and 
apathetic  out  of  pure  inertia  and  sloth.  She  was, 
as  she  was  fond  of  announcing,  a  "mother;"  but 
her  ideas  of  motherhood  consisted  merely  in  feed- 
ing Boy  on  sloppy  food  which  frequently  did  not 

89 


BOY. 

agree  with  him,  in  dosing  him  with  medicine  when 
he  was  out  of  sorts,  in  dressing  him  anyhow,  and 
in  allowing  him  to  amuse  himself  as  he  liked  wher- 
ever he  could,  however  he  could,  at  all  times  and 
in  all  places,  dirty  or  clean.  A  child  of  the  gutter 
had  the  same  sort  of  maternal  care.  Of  order,  of 
time,  of  refinement,  of  elegance  and  sweet  cleanli- 
ness, there  was  no  perception  whatever;  while 
the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  the  disordered  household 
was,  of  course,  "  Poo  Sing,"  who  rolled  in  and 
rolled  out  as  he  chose,  more  or  less  disgraceful  in 
appearance  and  conduct,  at  all  hours. 

However,  there  was  no  help  for  it, — Miss  Letty 
had  held  out  a  rescue,  and  it  had  been  refused, — 
and  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  but  to 
leave  Boy,  for  the  present  at  any  rate,  in  his  un- 
fortunate surroundings.  But  there  were  tears  in 
the  eyes  of  the  tender-hearted  lady  when  she  re- 
turned home  alone  that  day,  and  missed  the  little 
face  and  the  gay  prattle  that  had  so  greatly  cheered 
her  loneliness.  And  after  dinner,  when  the  stately 
Plimpton  handed  her  her  cup  of  coffee,  she  was 
foolish  enough  to  be  touched  by  his  solemnly  civil 
presentation  to  her  of  a  diminutive  pair  of  worn 
shoes  set  in  orderly  fashion  on  a  large  silver  tray. 

"  Master  Boy  left  these  behind  him,  my  lady," 
he  said.  He  always  called  Miss  Letty  "  my  lady," 
out  of  the  deep  deference  existing  towards  her  in 
his  own  mind.  "  They're  his  hold  ones."  Plimp- 
ton was  fond  of  aspirating  his  h's;  he  thought 
the  trick  gave  an  elegant  sound  to  his  language. 

90 


BOY. 

"  Thank  you,  Plimpton,"  said  Miss  Leslie,  with 
a  faint  smile ;  "  I  will  send  them  to  his  mother 
in  the  morning." 

But  she  did  not  send  them  to  his  mother.  When 
she  was  quite  alone,  she  kissed  each  little  shoe 
tenderly,  and  tied  them  up  together  in  soft  silk 
paper  with  a  band  of  blue  ribbon,  and  then,  like 
a  fond  weak  creature,  put  them  under  her  pillow 
when  she  went  to  bed,  and  cried  a  little;  then 
slept  and  dreamed  that  her  "  brave  true  Harry" 
was  alive  and  wedded  to  her,  and  that  Boy  was  her 
very  own  darling,  with  no  other  "  Muzzy"  in 
the  world. 


91 


CHAPTER   VI. 

Days  went  on,  months  went  on,  years  went  on, 
as  they  have  a  habit  of  doing,  till  Boy  arrived  at 
the  mature  age  of  nine. 

Changes  had  occurred  during  this  period  which, 
slight  in  themselves,  were  destined  to  have  their 
lasting  effect  upon  his  character  and  temperament. 
To  begin  with.  Captain  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir 
had  been  compelled,  through  the  force  of  circum- 
stances, to  leave  the  house  in  Hereford  Square  and 
give  up  living  in  London  altogether.  The  Hon- 
ourable Captain's  means  had  been  considerably 
straightened  through  his  "  little  ways,"  and  often 
and  often  during  occasional  flashes  of  sobriety  it 
would  occur  to  him  that  Boy  was  steadily  growing, 
and  that  what  a  d — d  pity  it  was  that  Miss  Leslie 
had  not  adopted  him,  after  all.  Once  or  twice  he 
had  broached  the  subject  to  his  wife,  but  only  to 
be  met  by  a  large,  placid  smile  and  the  remark, — 

"  Jim,  I  really  am  surprised  at  you !  I  thought 
you  had  more  pride.  But,  really,  you  don't  seem 
to  mind  the  idea  of  your  only  son  being  put  in  the 
position  of  a  pauper!" 

"  Don't  see  where  the  pauper  comes  in,"  growled 
the  Honourable  Jim.  "  A  hundred  thousand 
pounds  is  surely  enough  to  keep  a  man  from  the 
workhouse.  And  if  that  lot  of  money  is  going 
around  begging,  I  don't  see  why  the  little  chap 

92 


BOY. 

shouldn't  have  it.  I've  nothing  to  leave  him.  Why 
the  deuce  don't  you  let  the  old  lady  take  him,  and 
have  done  with  it?" 

"  Well !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir,  with  a 
lachrymose  air  of  deeply  seated  injury,  "  if  you 
are  so  lost  to  decency  as  to  wish  to  part  from  your 
own  flesh  and  blood " 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all !"  burst  out  the  "  Honourable" 
scion  of  century-condensed  aristocracy.  "  D — n 
your  flesh  and  blood!  Have  it  your  own  way! 
Do  as  you  d — n  please!    Only  don't  bother  me." 

In  this  way  such  marital  discussions  always 
ended, — and  Boy  struggled  steadily  along  in  growth 
and  being  and  thought,  wholly  unconscious  of  them. 
He  had  lost  sight  of  Miss  Letty,  but  truly  had  not 
forgotten  her,  though  in  the  remote  village  on  the 
seacoast  where  his  father  had  now  elected  to  dwell 
in  order  that  he  might  indulge  in  his  pet  vice  with- 
out undue  public  comment  or  observation,  he  found 
himself  so  utterly  estranged  from  all  delicate  and 
helpful  sympathies  as  to  be  almost  rendered  stunned 
and  stupid.  In  the  first  year  after  he  had  left  Lon- 
don he  was  taught  some  desultory  lessons  by  a 
stolid-faced  country  wench  who  passed  for  being 
a  nursery  governess,  but  whose  abilities  were 
chiefly  limited  to  ogling  the  young  sailor  and 
farmer  lads  of  the  place  and  inventing  new 
fashions  for  arranging  her  coarsely  abundant  hair. 
Boy's  contempt  for  her  knew  no  bounds.  He 
would  sit  and  watch  her  out  of  the  corners  of  his 
eyes  while  she  stood  before  a  looking-glass,  smirk- 

93 


BOY. 

ing  at  her  own  reflection,  and  quite  unwittingly 
he  developed  a  curious  vein  of  satire  which  soon 
showed  itself  in  some  of  the  questions  he  put  to 
her  and  to  others.  A  sad  little  change  had  taken 
place  in  him, — the  far-off,  beautiful  angel  look  of 
his  countenance  had  all  but  vanished,  and  an  expres- 
sion of  dull  patience  combined  with  weariness  had 
taken  its  place.  For  by  this  time,  of  course,  he  had 
found  out  the  true  nature  of  "  Poo  Sing's"  chronic 
illness,  and  the  knowledge  of  it  had  filled  him  with 
an  inexpressible  disgust  and  shame.  Child  though 
he  was,  he  was  not  too  young  to  feel  a  sick  thrill 
when  he  saw  his  father  march  into  the  house  at 
night  with  the  face,  voice,  and  manner  of  an  in- 
furiated ruffian  bent  on  murder.  And  he  no  longer 
sat  in  a  chair  innocently  murmuring  "  Poo  Sing," 
but  slunk  away  from  the  evil  sight,  whispering 
faintly  to  himself,  "Father!— Oh,  father!"  In 
dark  corners  of  the  house,  and  more  often  outside 
the  house  in  a  wooded  little  solitude  of  pines,  where 
scarcely  a  bird's  wings  fluttered  to  disturb  the  dark 
silence,  Boy  would  sit  by  himself  meditating  and 
occasionally  reading — for  he  had  been  quick  to 
learn  his  letters,  and  study  offered  as  yet  no  very 
painful  difficulties  to  him.  He  was  naturally  a  boy 
of  bright  brain  and  acute  perception,  but  the  bright- 
ness had  been  darkened  and  the  perception  blunted 
by  the  ever  down-pressing  weight  of  home  influ- 
ences brought  about  by  his  father's  degradation 
and  his  mother's  indifference.  He  began  to  see 
clearly  now  that  it  was  not  without  good  cause  he 

94 


BOY. 

had  felt  sorry  for  his  "  Muzzy's"  iigHness,  for 
that  ugHiiess  was  the  outcome  of  her  own  fault. 
He  used  to  wander  down  to  the  border  of  the  sea, 
mechanically  carrying  a  tin  pail  and  wooden  spade, 
and  there  would  sit  shovelling  in  sand  and  shovel- 
ling it  out  again,  and  while  thus  engaged  would 
sometimes  find  there  one  or  two  ladies  walking 
with  their  children, — ladies  in  trim  serge  skirts, 
and  tidily  belted  blouses,  and  neat  sailor  hats  set 
gracefully  on  prettily  arranged  hair, — and  he  could 
not  for  the  life  of  him  understand  why  his  mother 
should  allow  her  dress  to  be  less  orderly  than  that 
of  the  cook,  and  her  general  appearance  less  in- 
viting and  odorous  than  that  of  the  old  woman 
who  came  round  twice  a  week  to  sell  prawns  and 
shrimps  at  the  door.  And  so  he  brooded  and 
brooded — till  on  one  sudden  and  alarming  day  the 
stolid  nursery  governess  was  found  on  his  father's 
knee,  with  his  father's  arms  clasped  round  her, 
and  such  an  appalling  clamour  ensued  that  Boy, 
who  was,  of  course,  not  told  the  real  reason  of  the 
disorder,  stood  terrified  and  thought  everyone  in 
the  house  had  gone  raving  mad,  and  that  he,  poor, 
small  chap,  was  left  alone  in  the  middle  of  a  howl- 
ing wilderness.  The  stolid  nursery  governess  on 
being  discovered  had  promptly  fainted,  and  lay  on 
the  floor  with  her  large  feet  well  upturned  and 
more  than  an  inch  of  stocking  exposed,  the  "  Hon- 
ourable" Jim  rattled  out  all  his  stock  of  oaths  till 
he  was  black  and  blue  in  the  face  with  impotent 
swearing,  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir,  plumping  heav- 

95 


BOY. 

ily  down  in  the  nearest  convenient  chair,  lifted  up 
her  voice  and  wept.  And  in  the  middle  of  her  weep- 
ing, happening  to  perceive  Boy  standing  on  the 
threshold  of  the  room,  very  pale-faced  and  half 
paralysed  with  fright,  she  caught  him  up  in  her 
arms  and  exclaimed, "  My  poor,  dear,  injured  son !" 
with  a  wifely  and  maternal  gusto  that  was  more 
grotesque  than  impressive.  Boy  somehow  felt  that 
he  was  being  made  ridiculous,  though  he  could 
not  have  told  why.  And  when  the  stolid-faced 
nursery  governess  had  prolonged  her  fainting  fit 
as  much  as  was  desirable  and  endurable,  when 
with  many  grunts  and  sighs,  spasmodic  kicks  and 
plunges,  she  righted  herself,  so  to  speak,  first  into 
a  sitting  posture,  and  then  gradually  rose  to  her 
feet,  a  tearful  martyr  to  wrongful  suspicions,  and, 
with  one  injured-innocence  look  of  reproach  at 
Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  and  a  knowing  side-wink  at  the 
irate  and  roaring  "  Jim,"  left  the  room  and  after- 
wards the  house,  never  to  return.  Boy  lived  for 
many  days  in  a  state  of  deep  wonderment,  not 
knowing  what  to  make  of  it.  It  was  a  vast  puzzle 
to  his  young  mind ;  but  he  was  conscious  of  a 
certain  advantage  to  himself  in  the  departure  of 
the  ill-used  young  woman,  who  had  so  casually 
superintended  his  few  lessons  in  the  intervals  of 
dressing  her  hair.  He  was  left  very  much  more 
alone,  and  took  to  wondering — "  daunering,"  as 
the  Scotch  would  say — all  about  the  village  and 
down  by  the  edge  of  the  sea,  like  a  small  waif  of 
the  world  neglected  and  astray.     He  was  free  to 

96 


BOY. 

amuse  himself  as  he  hked,  so  he  strolled  into  all 
sorts  of  places,  dirty  and  clean,  and  got  his  clothes 
torn  and  ragged,  his  hands  and  face  scratched  and 
soiled,  and  if  it  chanced  that  he  fell  into  a  mud- 
puddle  or  a  sea-pool,  which  he  often  did,  he  never 
thought  of  telling  his  mother  that  he  was  wet 
through,  because  she  never  noticed  it,  and  he  there- 
fore concluded  that  it  did  not  matter.  And  he 
began  to  grow  thin  and  wiry  and  brown  and  un- 
kempt, till  there  was  very  little  difference  in  ap- 
pearance between  him  and  the  common  boys  of  the 
village,  who  were  wont  to  haunt  the  sea-shore  and 
pick  up  stray  treasures  in  the  way  of  weed  and 
shell  and  wreckage  there,  boys  with  whom  he  very 
soon  began  to  fraternise,  much  to  his  detriment. 
They  were  not  bad  boys,  but  their  language  was 
brutal  and  their  manners  more  so.  They  called 
him  a  "  ninny"  when  he  first  sought  their  society, 
and  one  big  lout  beat  him  on  the  head  for  his  too 
sharp  discovery  of  a  shilling  buried  in  the  sand. 
But  these  were  trifles,  and  after  proving  that  he 
was  not  afraid  of  a  ducking,  or  a  stand-up  fight 
either,  they  relented  towards  him  and  allowed 
him  to  be  an  associate  of  their  scavenger  pursuits. 
Thus  he  learnt  new  forms  of  language  and  new 
customs  of  life,  and  gradually  adopted  the  lazy, 
slouching  walk  of  his  shore-companions,  together 
with  their  air  of  general  indifference,  only  made 
occasionally  piquant  by  a  touch  of  impudence. 
Boy  began  to  say  sharp  things  now  and  then, 
though  his  little  insolences  savoured  more  of  satire 
7  97 


BOY. 

than  malice.  He  did  not  mean  to  be  rude  at  any 
time,  but  a  certain  vague  satisfaction  moved  him 
when  he  found  that  he  could  occasionally  make  an 
observation  which  caused  his  elders  to  wince,  and 
privately  wonder  whether  their  grey  hairs  were 
not  standing  on  end.  He  rather  repressed  this 
power,  however,  and  thought  a  good  deal  more 
than  he  said.  He  began  to  consider  his  mother  in 
a  new  light;  her  ways  no  longer  puzzled  him  so 
much  as  they  amused  him.  It  was  with  almost  a 
humorous  condescension  that  the  child  sat  down 
obediently  to  his  morning  lessons  with  her,  les- 
sons which  she,  with  much  elaboration  and  im- 
portance, had  devised  for  his  instruction.  Truth 
to  tell,  they  were  very  easy  samples  of  learning, 
— her  dense  brain  was  not  capable  of  arranging 
anything  more  than  the  most  ordinary  forms  of 
study, — and  Boy  learnt  more  of  the  world  in  an 
hour's  listening  to  the  chat  of  the  fishermen  on 
the  quay  than  his  "  Muzzy"  could  have  taught  him 
in  a  hundred  years.  There  was  in  particular  one 
old,  old  man,  wrinkled  and  weather-beaten,  whose 
sole  life's  business  seemed  to  be  to  sit  on  a  tar- 
barrel  and  smoke  his  pipe,  except  when  he  gave 
a  hand  to  help  pull  in  the  fishing  smacks  as  they 
came  to  shore  laden  with  herring  or  mackerel.  He 
was  known  in  the  place  by  the  nick-name  of  "  Rat- 
tling Jack,"  and  to  him  Boy  would  often  go,  and 
with  half-bold,  half-shy  questions  would  draw  him 
out  to  tell  stories  of  the  sea,  though  the  old  chap 
was  not  very  fond  of  harking  back  to  his  past  life 

98 


BOY. 

and  adventures,  and  generally  preferred  to  ex- 
pound short  essays  on  the  conduct  of  Hfe,  drawn 
from  his  long  experience. 

"Aye,  there  y'  are,"  he  said  on  one  occasion  when 
Boy,  with  some  pride,  brought  for  his  inspection 
a  beautiful  rose-coloured  sea-anemone  which  he 
had  managed  to  detach  from  the  rocks  and  carry 
off  in  his  tin  pail,  "  there  y'  are,  you  see !  Now 
ye've  made  a  fellow-creature  miserable  y'  are  as 
'appy  as  the  day  is  long!  Eh,  eh, — why,  for 
mussy's  sake,  didn't  ye  leave  it  on  the  rocks  in 
the  sun  with  the  sea  a-washin'  it  an'  the  blessin' 
of  the  Lord  A'mighty  on  it?  They  things  are 
jes'  like  human  souls — there  they  stick  on  a  rock 
of  faith  and  hope  maybe,  jes'  wantin'  nothin'  but 
to  be  let  alone ;  and  then  by  and  by  someone  comes 
along  that  begins  to  poke  at  'em  and  pull  'em 
about  and  wake  up  all  their  sensitiveness-like — 'urt 
'em  as  much  as  possible,  that's  the  way ! — and  then 
they  pulls  'em  off  their  rocks,  and  carries  'em  off 
in  a  mean  little  tin  pail !  Ay,  ay,  ye  may  call  a 
tin  pail  whatever  ye  please — a  pile  o'  money  or  a 
pile  o'  love — it's  nought  but  a  tin  pail,  not  a  rock 
with  the  sun  shinin'  upon  it.  And  o'  course  they 
dies;  there  ain't  no  sense  in  livin'  in  a  tin  pail." 

These  remarks  being  somewhat  profound,  were 
rather  beyond  Boy's  comprehension,  but  he  gath- 
ered something  of  their  sense  and  looked  rather 
wistfully  at  his  sea-trophy. 

"  Will  it  die  now?"  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"  Av  coorse  it  will !  How'd  you  like  to  be  took 
99 


BOY. 

off  your  own  blessed  rock  and  squeeged  into  a 
pail?  Come  now,  tell  me  that!  Wouldn't  you 
kick  the  bucket  over  ?  Hor — hor — hor !" — and  the 
old  man  laughed  hoarsely  at  what  he  considered 
a  bright  and  natural  witticism, — "  an'  die  an'  'ave 
done  with  it?" 

"  I  suppose  I  should,"  answered  Boy,  medita- 
tively.    "What  do  you  do  when  you  die?" 

"  I  ain't  done  it  yet,"  replied  Rattling  Jack, 
rather  testily,  "  but  I  expec'  when  I  'ave  to  I'll  do 
it  as  well  as  my  betters — stretch  out  my  legs,  turn 
up  my  toes,  shut  up  my  eyes,  chuckle-chuckle  in 
my  windpipe,  and  go  slick  off.  There  ain't  no 
particular  style  o'  doin'  it." 

Boy  stood  staring,  limp  with  horror^  Rattling 
Jack  had  been  so  extremely  realistic  in  his  descrip- 
tion,— suiting  the  action  to  the  word  and  the  word 
to  the  action, — and  at  the  "  chuckle-chuckle  in  my 
windpipe"  he  had  made  such  an  appalling  noise 
that  Boy  felt  it  would  be  necessary  to  run  for  as- 
sistance. But  the  venerable  gentleman  soon  re- 
covered from  his  histrionic  efforts,  and  producing 
his  pipe,  began  stuffing  the  tobacco  well  into  it 
with  the  point  of  an  extremely  dirty  forefinger. 

"  Ay,  ay,  there  y'  are,"  he  went  on.  "  Now, 
wot  are  ye  goin'  to  be  yerself  when  yer  tries  to 
knock  up  a  riggin'  in  this  wide  world?  There 
baint  no  place  for  boys  in  this  old  country,  but 
away  wiz  yer  to  'Meriker  and  Canada.  Ask  yer 
father  to  send  ye  away  to  'Meriker;  there's  a 
chance  for  ev'ry  man  to  make  a  million  there  an' 

lOO 


BOY. 

come  back  a  reg'lar  bounder.  An'  then  ye  can 
marry  one  o'  they  foine  ladies  wots  all  dress  an' 
no  brains, — simper-simper,  slish-slish! — ah,  they 
makes  me  sick,  they  do!  I  tell  yer," — here  he 
turned  angrily  round  upon  the  astonished  boy, — 
"  I  tell  yer  they  makes  me  sick,  they  do.  We  don't 
see  many  of  'em  'ere,  the  Lord  be  blessed  for  all  'is 
mussies,  but  if  ever  you  goes  to  Lunnon " 

"  I  used  to  live  in  London,"  murmured  Boy, 
apologetically. 

Rattling  Jack  looked  at  him  in  a  kind  of  dull 
v^rath. 

"You! — you  little  shaver!  Come  from  Lun- 
non, do  yer?  Well,  wot  in  the  world  is  yer  doin' 
'ere?  Now  tell  me  that."  Here  lighting  his  pipe, 
he  stuck  it  well  between  his  yellow  teeth,  and 
turned  round  with  a  fish-like  glare  in  his  eye  upon 
the  small  boy  before  him.  "  Wot  are  yer  doin' 
'ere?"   he  repeated.     "  Come,  now,  tell  me  that." 

Boy  meditated ;  finally  he  said, — 

"  I'm  very  sorry  I  can't  tell  you.  I  really  don't 
know." 

"  Avast  there !"  said  Rattling  Jack.  "  A  boy  as 
don't  know  where  'e  is,  nor  wot  'e  is,  nor  why  'e 
is,  ain't  no  good  as  I  can  see.     Chuck  it!" 

Possibly  it  may  have  been  from  the  consideration 
of  these  scathing  remarks  of  Rattling  Jack  that 
Boy  was  moved  one  morning  to  ask  his  "  Muzzy" 
a  perplexing  question,  which  has  often  presented 
itself  as  the  profoundest  of  problems  to  most  of 
the  world's  metaphysicians, 

lOI 


BOY. 

"Mother,  what  am  I?" 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir,  who  had  just  settled  herself 
comfortably  in  an  arm-chair  to  hear  him  read 
aloud  a  short  summary  prepared  by  herself  of  some 
of  the  baldest  and  prosiest  facts  of  our  glorious 
English  history,  gazed  at  him  with  a  bland  smile. 

''Don't  be  silly,  Boy!" 

"  I'm  not  silly,"  he  answered,  with  a  touch  of 
irritation :  "  I  want  to  know  what  I  really  am — I 
mean,  what  is  the  good  of  me?" 

"  What  is  the  good  of  you?"  echoed  "  Muzzy," 
nodding  her  large  head,  abstractedly.  "Are  you 
not  my  son?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  might  have  been  anybody's  son,  you 
see,"  said  Boy.  "  That  isn't  it  at  all.  I  should 
like  to  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  with  myself." 

"  Of  course  you  would,"  replied  his  mother  with 
comfortable  composure.  "  Very  natural  and  very 
proper.  But  we  can't  decide  that  just  now.  When 
you  are  older,  perhaps,  you  shall  go  into  the 
Navy." 

Boy's  face  flushed  and  his  delicate  brows  con- 
tracted. His  mother  did  not  understand  him. 
But  he  had  found  out  that  it  was  no  use  arguing 
with  her. 

"  That's  not  what  I  meant,"  he  said,  and  turned 
at  once  to  his  lessons  in  resigned  patience. 

It  was  strange,  he  thought,  but  inevitable,  that 
no  one  could  be  found  to  tell  him  exactly  what 
he  wished  most  to  learn.  About  God,  for  instance, 
— who  was  that  Personage  really  ?     He  was  afraid 

1 02 


BOY. 

to  ask.  He  had  been  told  that  God  had  made  him, 
and  the  world,  and  everything  that  was  in  the 
world,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  say  a  little  form 
of  prayer  to  this  same  God  every  night  at  bed- 
time and  every  morning  on  rising — the  servant 
Gerty  at  Hereford  Square  had  taught  him  to  do 
so,  and  his  "  Muzzy"  had  blandly  approved  of 
Gerty's  religious  zeal.  But  he  had  no  real  con- 
ception as  to  Whom  he  was  addressing  himself. 
The  sweet  old  story,  the  grand  story  of  the  self- 
less Christ,  had  been  told  him  in  a  sort  of  vague 
and  inconsequent  manner,  but  he  had  not  under- 
stood it  a  bit.  One  of  his  petitions  to  Heaven, 
invented  by  Gerty,  ran  thus :  "  Dear  Jesus,  bless 
father,  bless  mother,  make  me  a  good  boy,  and  save 
my  soul  for  Heaven,  amen !"  But  he  had  no  sort 
of  idea  what  his  "  soul"  was,  or  why  it  should 
be  so  carefully  "  saved  for  Heaven."  What  was 
the  good  of  his  soul?  And  what  was  Heaven? 
Often  he  thought  he  would  ask  Rattling  Jack, 
but  he  hesitated  to  do  so  lest  that  venerable  cynic 
should  empty  vials  of  wrath  on  his  defenceless 
head  for  being  in  such  a  state  of  ignorance.  And 
so  the  days  went  on,  and  he  was  fast  becoming 
used  to  the  companionship  of  the  boy-scavengers 
on  the  beech  and  the  conversation  of  Rattling  Jack 
when  a  sudden  and  glorious  break  occurred  in  the 
clouds  of  his  dull  sky.  Major  Desmond  came 
down  from  London  unexpectedly  to  see  his  father 
and  mother,  and  to  ask  that  he  might  be  allowed 
to  go  to  Scotland  and  stay  a  whole  month  with 

103 


BOY. 

Miss  Leslie  at  a  beautiful  place  she  had  taken  there 
for  the  summer  on  the  fairy  shores  of  Loch 
Katrine.  He  was  amusing  himself  by  the  sea  as 
usual,  putting  helpless  baby-crabs  into  a  glass  bot- 
tle, when  his  mother's  maid-of-all-work  came 
hurrying  down  to  find  him,  and,  seizing  him  sud- 
denly by  the  arm,  upset  the  whole  crab  family  all 
over  the  sand.  But  Boy  made  no  remark  of  either 
anger  or  sorrow  as  he  saw  his  crawling  collection 
scattered  in  all  directions ;  they  were  not  the  only 
crabs,  he  reflected,  philosophically — there  were  a 
good  many  more  in  the  sea.  And  when  he  heard 
that  Major  Desmond  was  waiting  to  see  him  he 
was  very  glad,  though  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  was 
not  quite  sure  who  Major  Desmond  was,  except 
that  he  was  associated  in  his  mind  with  an  old 
magic  lantern  which  had  fallen  out  of  repair,  and 
was  shut  up  in  a  cupboard  with  the  worn-out  boots 
of  the  household.  He  ran,  however,  as  fast  as 
his  little,  wiry  legs  would  carry  him,  moved  by 
curiosity  and  an  eagerness  that  he  could  not  well 
explain,  but  made  conscious  by  the  outcoming 
aura  of  pleasurable  sensations  that  something 
agreeable  was  about  to  happen.  He  forgot  that 
he  was  dirty  and  untidy,  he  did  not  know  that  he 
looked  neglected,  so  that  he  was  utterly  unaware 
of  the  reasons  which  caused  the  well-dressed,  hand- 
some, burly  old  gentleman  with  the  white  mous- 
tache to  recoil  a  step  or  two  at  sight  of  him,  and 
exclaim  "  Oh  Lord !"  accompanying  the  ejacula- 
tion with  a  low  whistle.     Major  Desmond? — of 

104 


BOY. 

course  he  remembered  him  now! — he  was  the 
friend  of  the  far-off  vision  of  his  childhood, 
"  Kiss-Letty."  And  rising  memories  began  to 
come,  and  sent  the  colour  to  his  face,  and  the 
sparkle  to  his  eyes,  and  the  tremulous  curve  to  his 
lips  as  he  held  out  his  grimy  little  hand  and  said, 
somewhat  nervously, — 

"How  do  you  do,  Major!  Has  Miss  Letty 
come,  too?" 

The  major  recovered  from  the  shock  of  dismay 
with  which  he  had  at  first  contemplated  the  little 
sea-ragamuffin,  and  as  he  caught  the  look  and 
smile  with  which  Boy  accompanied  his  question 
he  began  to  breathe  again. 

"  No,  she  has  not  come,"  he  replied,  taking  a 
grip  of  Boy's  thin  shoulder  with  his  strong  yet 
gentle  hand,  "  she  is  in  Scotland.  I  am  going 
over  there  to  shoot.  And  I  want  to  take  you  with 
me  if  your  mother  will  let  you  come.  How  would 
you  like  to  go,  eh?" 

Boy  remained  speechless.  He  could  really  have 
cried  for  joy  at  the  idea,  but  he  had  learnt  to  con- 
trol his  emotions.  One  of  the  special  "  points"  of 
his  mother's  character  was  the  maternal  delight 
she  had  in  refusing  him  any  very  special  relaxa- 
tion; she  judged  that  as  "discipline,"  and  used 
to  say  it  was  "  a  mother's  duty"  to  see  that  "  her 
son"  was  not  spoilt.  So,  remembering  this  in 
time,  he  only  smiled  and  was  silent.  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  looking  narrowly  at  him,  smiled  also,  con- 
descendingly and  complacently, 

105 


BOY. 

"  Dear  Boy !  He  doesn't  want  to  leave  me," 
she  said,  reverting  to  her  old  idea  that  she  had 
made  herself  an  absolute  necessity  to  his  comfort 
and  happiness,  "  but  I  really  think — yes — I  think 
I  should  like  him  to  go  with  you,  major.  A  little 
change  will  do  him  good — he  is  growing  so 
fast " 

"  Yes,  by  Jove,  he  is !"  agreed  Desmond,  look- 
ing at  the  little  fellow  with  a  doubtful  air,  "  and 
getting  jolly  thin  on  it,  too !  What  do  you  feed 
him  on,  eh?  Oh,  never  mind,  we  won't  go  into  it 
if  you'd  rather  not.  A  little  knocking  round  in  the 
heather  won't  hurt  him.  Well,  ma'am,  if  you're 
agreeable  I  can  take  him  at  once;  we  can  reach 
London  this  evening  and  take  the  mail  train  up 
to-morrow." 

And  so,  with  few  words,  to  Boy's  complete 
amazement  it  was  all  settled.  He  was  told  to  go 
and  get  washed  and  dressed,  and  the  good-natured 
maid-of-all-work,  hearing  these  instructions,  came 
to  him  in  his  little  room  and  scrubbed  him  down 
and  helped  him  into  his  only  decent  suit  of  clothes, 
still  of  the  "  Jack  Tar"  pattern  and  made  by  a 
country  tailor.  The  country  tailor  was  the  only 
one  who  had  fitted  Boy  properly;  all  his  other 
clothes  were  stitched  together  loosely  by  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir,  who  had  "  designed"  them,  as  sh^ 
said  with  much  pride,  and  "  cut"  them,  alas !  on  the 
following  of  those  designs.  A  few  little  shirts  and 
socks  were  crammed  hastily  into  the  very  portman- 
teau Major  Desmond  had  given  him  so  long  ago, 

1 06 


BOY. 

and  the  maid-of-all-work,  perceiving  a  loose  box  of 
toys  in  a  corner,  containing  she  knew  not  what,  put 
that  in  also,  "  for,"  she  muttered  to  herself,  "  they'll 
amuse  him  on  a  rainy  day,  and  I've  heard  it  al- 
ways rains  in  Scotland."  And  so,  before  he  had 
time  almost  to  look  round,  he  had  said  good-bye 
to  his  mother, — his  father  was  at  the  public-house 
and  it  was  not  worth  while  sending  for  him, — and 
was  in  the  train  with  the  major  sitting  opposite 
to  him — yes,  there  they  were,  flying,  rushing,  fly- 
ing along  to  London  at  the  rate  of  fifty  miles  an 
hour.  He  could  hardly  believe  it;  his  head  was 
quite  confused  with  the  hurry  and  surprise  of  it. 
He  felt  a  little  shy,  too,  and  afraid;  the  pretty 
confidence  of  his  early  days  had  quite  disappeared. 
He  peeped  up  every  now  and  then  at  the  major, 
and  the  major  in  turn,  over  the  edge  of  a  news- 
paper, peeped  at  him. 

"  By  Jove,  how  the  poor  little  beggar  has  been 
allowed  to  run  wild !"  thought  the  good-natured 
gentleman,  whom  the  passing  of  years  had  made 
more  good-natured  than  ever.  "  Looks  like  a 
ragged  wastrel !"  Aloud  he  said,  "  Boy,  old  chap, 
do  you  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  with  you  when 
we  get  to  town?" 

Boy  smiled  trustfully,  because  the  major  looked 
so  cheerful. 

"No,"  he  said,  "  you  tell  me!" 

"  I'm  going  to  put  you  in  a  mild  Turkish  bath," 
pursued  the  major.     "  Know  what  that  is?" 

"No!"  and  Boy  laughed. 
107 


BOY. 

"  Thought  not.  Well,  you'll  know  before  you 
go  to  bed !" 

Then  came  a  silence,  while  the  major  read  his 
paper  and  the  train  rushed  on,  and  Boy  began 
thinking,  or  rather  trying  to  think,  over  the  rapid 
and  amazing  events  of  the  day. 

"  I  wish  I'd  said  good-bye  to  Rattling  Jack," 
he  remarked,  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  do  you  ?  And  who  the  deuce  is  Rattling 
Jack?"   enquired   the   major. 

"  He  is  just  an  old  man,"  replied  Boy, — "  oh, 
very  old!  But  he  is  a  good  talker  and  he  amuses 
me  often.    He  has  seen  a  great  deal  of  life." 

At  this  observation  Major  Desmond  folded  up 
his  newspaper,  laid  it  flat  on  his  knee  with  a  bang, 
and  stared  hard.  "  Seen  a  great  deal  of  life !" 
What  an  old-fashioned,  weird,  and  preoccupied 
look  the  little  fellow  had,  to  be  sure!  And  how 
thin  and  brown  he  was !  What  would  Miss  Letty 
say  of  him  when  she  saw  him?  Wguld  she  be 
glad  she  had  not  been  able  to  adopt  him,  or  would 
she  be  sorry?  These  thoughts  passed  like  small 
lightning  flashes  over  the  major's  brain,  and  he 
gave  a  short,  impatient  sigh.  But,  so  far  as  he 
was  personally  concerned,  he  meant  to  make  the 
best  of  it  all,  and  on  arriving  in  London  that  night 
he  not  only  fulfilled  his  intention  of  seeing  Boy 
through  a  Turkish  bath,  but  he  also  took  him  to  a 
tailor's  establishment  famous  for  ready-made 
clothing  and  "  rigged  him  out,"  as  he  termed  it, 
with  everything  that  was  necessary  for  the  son 

1 08 


BOY. 

of  a  gentleman.  And  Boy  slept  soundly  in  the 
little  room  assigned  to  him  at  the  major's  bachelor 
flat.  His  little  limbs,  lately  encrusted  with  sea- 
salt  that  had  almost  baked  itself  into  his  tender 
flesh,  were  soothed  and  softened  and  rested  by  the 
rubbing  and  polishing  he  had  received  at  the  Turk- 
ish bath, — a  rubbing  and  polishing  which,  by-the- 
bye  he  had  found  intensely  amusing  and  delight- 
ful,— and  he  slipped  into  his  new  little  flannel 
nightgown  with  a  sense  of  ease  and  rest  and  light- 
heartedness  that  he  had  not  felt  for  many  a  long 
day.  And  in  his  sleep  something  that  had  seemed 
hard  and  unchildish  in  him  rolled  away  for  the 
time  being,  for  when  he  got  up  the  next  morning 
and  put  on  his  smart  little  grey  travelling-suit  and 
cap  to  match,  and  his  gold  curls,  rather  short,  but 
washed  free  of  the  sea-iodine,  glistening  with 
something  of  their  old  brightness  over  his  fore- 
head, he  looked  more  like  the  boy  of  his  babyhood 
than  he  had  done  for  months.  He  was  himself 
conscious  of  an  alteration  in  his  feelings :  Rat- 
tling Jack  and  his  scavenger  friends  had  all  glided 
away  like  a  bad  dream  or  a  picture  painted  on  a 
vanishing  screen — his  smiles  came  easily — his 
step  was  brisk  and  light — and  when  at  breakfast 
with  the  major  his  laugh  rang  out  with  almost  as 
much  sweetness  and  freedom  as  in  the  old  chuck- 
ling days  of  his  affection  for  "  Kiss-Letty."  And 
then,  when  they  started  for  the  North  by  the  ter- 
rible train  known  as  the  "  Flying  Scotchman," 
what    joy! — what     excitement! — what     novelty! 

109 


BOY. 

There  was  the  jolly  guard  with  the  strongest  of 
Highland  accents — what  a  splendid  fellow  he 
was,  to  be  sure !  Then  there  was  the  other  man 
with  the  polite  countenance  and  the  gold  buttons 
on  his  coat,  who  came  round  respectfully  to  tak^ 
orders  for  luncheon-baskets  en  route;  but  he  was 
a  very  agreeable  person,  especially  when  luncheon; 
time  came  and  the  basket  with  it.  Then  there 
were  the  wonderful  picture-papers  with  which  the 
major  provided  him,  together  with  a  fascinating 
little  hamper  of  fruit  and  a  box  of  the  finest  choco- 
late. What  a  heavenly  journey !  What  an  almost 
inspired  "  rush"  it  was  from  London  to  Edin- 
burgh— a  flight  as  of  the  gods !  And  when  Edin- 
burgh was  reached  and  the  major  did  not  stop 
there,  but  took  another  train  on  to  a  place  called 
Callander,  where  Miss  Leslie's  elegant  landau 
awaited  them,  there  followed  a  drive  like  a  dream 
through  scenery  that  was  surely  as  beautiful  as 
any  fabled  fairyland.  Crown  upon  crown  of 
deep-purple  hills  stretched  softly  away  into  the 
evening  distance  of  a  golden  sky  as  clear  as  am- 
ber; glorious  trees  nodding  drowsily  under  a 
weight  of  clustering  scarlet  berries — trees  which 
the  major  told  him  were  called  rowans  in  Scotland 
and  mountain-ash  in  England;  tufts  and  hillocks 
of  heather  almost  blazing  like  fire  in  the  after- 
glow of  the  setting  sun;  and  a  sweet,  mysterious 
noise  of  rippling  water  everywhere — the  noise  of 
falling  "  burnies"  leaping  from  rocky  heights  and 
trickling  down  into  deep  recesses  of  coolness  and 

no 


BOY. 

shadow  fringed  with  bracken  and  fern.  And 
then  the  first  ghmpse  of  Loch  Katrine!  that  ex- 
quisite turn  of  the  road  which  charms  the  dullest 
spectator  after  passing  the  Trossach's  Hotel,  with 
Ellen's  Isle  standing  like  a  jewel  on  the  shining 
breast  of  the  peaceful  water!  Boy's  long  pent-up 
love  of  the  beautiful  found  vent  here  in  a  cry  of 
ecstasy,  and  he  stood  up  on  the  seat  of  the  carriage 
to  take  in  the  whole  of  the  matchless  panorama. 
His  eyes  sparkled,  his  little  face  shone  with  joy 
and  animation,  and,  seeing  how  he  had  almost 
smiled  himself  into  the  real  child  he  was  again, 
the  kindly  major  was  more  satisfied,  and  did  not 
feel  so  much  nervous  dread  of  what  Miss  Letty 
might  say  when  the  carriage  turned  suddenly 
round  into  a  fine  avenue  of  silvery  birches  and 
pine,  and  bowled  up  to  the  door  of  a  long,  wide 
house,  covered  with  roses  and  set  on  a  terrace  over- 
looking the  Loch,  where  stood  the  gentle  lady, 
upon  whom  the  passing  of  time  had  scarcely  left 
a  perceptible  trace — Miss  Letty,  as  serene  and 
graceful  as  ever,  with  the  same  beneficent  look  of 
welcome  and  soft,  dove-like  glance  of  eye.  At 
sight  of  her  Boy  let  himself  go  altogether,  and, 
flinging  reserve  and  timidity  to  the  winds,  sprang 
into  her  ready  arms  and  hugged  her  tight,  with  a 
strong  inclination  to  cry,  so  deeply  was  he  excited. 
Miss  Letty  was  no  less  moved  as  she  tenderly  em- 
braced him,  and  it  took  her  a  minute  or  two  to 
conquer  her  emotion.     Then  she  said, — 


III 


BOY. 

"  Dear  Boy !  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !  How  you 
have  grown !" 

Boy  laughed  sheepishly  and  shamefacedly.  How 
he  had  grown,  indeed !  It  seemed  quite  a  mistake 
to  have  done  it.  Why  could  he  not  always  have 
stayed  a  little  child  and  looked  at  "  booful  pick- 
shures"  with  "  Kiss  Letty"  ?  And,  indeed,  no  mat- 
ter how  much  we  are  bound  to  believe  in  the  wise 
ordainments  of  a  sublime  and  perfect  Providence, 
we  may  ask  whether  for  many  a  child  it  would  not 
have  been  happiest  never  to  have  grown  up  at  all. 
Honestly  speaking,  we  cannot  grieve  for  the  fair 
legions  of  beloved  children  who  have  passed  away 
in  their  childhood;  we  know,  even  without  the 
aid  of  Gospel  comfort,  that  it  is  "  far  better"  with 
them  so.  If  Boy  had  been  an  analyst  of  feeling, 
he  would  have  known  that  deep  in  his  sensitive 
consciousness  there  was  a  faint  regret  that  he  had 
even  become  as  old  as  nine  years.  It  was  the  first 
pulsation  of  that  much  crueller  sense  of  loss  and 
error  which  sometimes  affects  the  full-grown  man 
when  looking  back  to  the  by-gone  days  of  his 
youth.  But  Boy,  though  he  was  beginning  to  take 
himself  into  his  own  confidence,  and  to  consider 
carefully  the  results  of  giving  way  to  emotion,  had 
not  proceeded  so  far  as  to  understand  all  the  fine 
breathings  of  variable  thought  that  stirred  his 
brain-cells  as  the  wind  stirs  ripples  on  a  pool;  he 
only  knew  that  just  now  he  was  both  very  glad 
and  very  sorry, — very  glad  to  be  again  with  "  Kiss 
Letty,"  very  sorry  to  have  "  grown"  so  much  as  to 

112 


BOY. 

be  somewhat  more  removed  from  her  than  in  for- 
mer time.  He  hung  affectionately  on  her  arm, 
though,  now,  as  they  went  into  the  house  together, 
and  a  sense  of  ''  home,  sweet  home"  gave  his  step 
hghtness  and  his  eyes  a  clear  sparkle  as  he  passed 
through  the  pretty  hall,  adorned  in  Scottish  fash- 
ion with  great  stag  antlers  and  deer-heads  and 
bright  clusters  of  heather  and  scarlet  rowans  set 
on  the  table  as  well  as  in  every  corner  where  a  touch 
of  colour  or  brightness  seemed  necessary,  and  then 
up  the  broad,  softly-carpeted  stairs  to  the  delightful 
room  which  had  been  prepared  for  him — a  room 
with  a  wide  window  commanding  a  glorious  view 
of  almost  the  whole  glittering  expanse  of  Loch 
Katrine.  And  here  Margaret  awaited  him — Mar- 
garet, as  comely  and  tidy  as  of  old,  with  her  kind 
face  and  spotless  apron, — Margaret,  who  met  him 
with  almost  the  same  exclamation  as  Miss  Letty, 
though  tuned  in  different  words. 

"  Bless  the  lad !  How  he  has  grown,  to  be  sure !" 
And  again  he  blushed  and  smiled  and  looked 
sheepish,  and  felt  happy  and  sad  at  once.  But  Mar- 
garet soon  found  out,  to  his  comfort  and  her  own, 
that  he  was  not  so  advanced  in  years  and  knowl- 
edge, after  all,  that  he  had  but  slip-shod  notions  as 
to  the  manner  of  washing  his  hands,  and  was  apt 
to  perform  that  cleansing  business  in  a  very  limp 
and  half-hearted  fashion.  Likewise  he  had  little 
or  no  idea  as  to  how  he  should  brush  and  comb  his 
curly  hair,  and  it  was  greatly  to  Margaret's  delight 
that  she  found  her  services  could  not  be  quite  dis- 
8  113 


BOY. 

pensed  with.  She  began  at  once  to  "  arrange"  him 
according  to  her  own  particular  way  of  "  valet- 
ing" a  small  boy,  and  presently  turned  him  out  to 
her  entire  satisfaction  in  a  becoming  white  flannel 
suit, — one  of  the  half-dozen  Major  Desmond  had 
bought  him  on  the  way  through  London, — with  a 
soft  blue  tie  knotted  under  his  little,  open  collar, 
and  the  bright  waves  of  his  hair  disposed  to  the 
best  advantage.  Very  sweet  and  very  wistful,  too, 
the  little  fellow  looked  as  he  then  went  down  to 
dinner,  and  Miss  Letty's  eyes  grew  dim  with  a  sud- 
den moisture  as  she  glanced  at  him  from  time  to 
time  and  noticed,  as  only  a  loving  woman  can,  the 
slight,  indefinable  alterations  in  him,  which,  like 
the  faintly  pencilled  lines  in  a  drawing,  were  bound 
to  become  darker,  and  gradually  to  take  their  place 
in  the  whole  composition  of  his  life  and  character. 
Major  Desmond  had  told  her  exactly  the  condi- 
tion in  which  he  had  found  him,  and  as  she  heard, 
her  heart  grew  heavy  and  sore.  Why,  she  thought, 
if  his  parents  were  going  to  do  no  more  than  allow 
him  to  run  wild  among  the  common  boys  of  a  vil- 
lage sea-shore,  could  they  not  have  given  him  the 
chance  she  had  offered?  She  said  something  to 
this  effect  in  half  a  dozen  words  to  her  old  friend 
Dick,  who,  with  a  puzzled  tug  at  his  white  mous- 
tache and  a  shrug  of  his  broad  shoulders,  gave  the 
matter  up  as  a  sort  of  difficult  conundrum. 

"  But  it's  the  mother,  Letty, — it's  the  soft,  fat, 
absurdly  self-important  mother!"  he  declared. 
"  Tell  you  what,  Jim  D'Arcy-Muir,  besotted  with 

114 


BOY. 

drink  as  he  is,  knows  he  is  a  beast,  and  that  is  a 
great  point  in  his  favour.  When  a  man  knows  he 
is  a  beast  and  admits  it,  you  can  give  him  credit 
for  honesty,  if  for  nothing  else,  and  Jim,  I  firmly 
believe,  would  hand  you  over  the  little  chap  at  once, 
and  be  glad  enough  to  give  him  such  a  jolly  good 
start  in  life.  But  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir — there! — 
she's  a  beast,  too,  and  she  doesn't  know  it;  that 
makes  all  the  difference.  She's  not  a  beast  in 
drinking — no — but  she's  a  beast  in  her  sloth  and 
love  of  muddle  and  dirt  and  confusion,  and  worse 
than  a  beast  in  stupid  obstinacy.  No  one  can  do 
anything  with  her.  She  will  always  be  a  drag  on 
Boy's  wheel !" 

"His  mother?"  suggested  Miss  Leslie,  gently. 

"  Yes,  1  know.  She's  his  mother,  more's  the 
pity.  The  days  are  coming  when  he  will  despise 
his  mother — and  that  is  a  very  bad  look-out  for 
any  chap.  But  it  will  not  be  his  fault — it  will  be 
hers." 

Miss  Leslie  said  no  more  on  the  subject  just 
then.  She  had  Boy,  at  any  rate,  for  a  month  to 
herself,  and  she  resolved  to  watch  him  closely  and 
study  his  character  for  herself. 

She  began  a  close  and  tender  observation  of 
him, — his  manners,  his  little  quaint  ways  of  speech, 
— and  for  the  first  week  of  his  stay  with  her  she 
noticed  nothing  to  awaken  her  anxiety.  The 
change  from  his  "  scavenger'"  life  on  the  sea- 
shore to  the  elegance  and  refinement  of  Miss  Letty's 
home,  combined  with  the  beauty  and  freshness  of 

115 


BOY. 

an  open-air  existence  in  the  Scottish  Highlands, 
gave  Boy  for  the  first  time  a  happy  obHvion  of  all 
his  recent  sordid  experiences.  Fishing,  boating, 
climbing,  and  riding  on  a  lovable  little  Shetland 
pony  which  his  kind  hostess  had  bought  for  his  use, 
these  new  and  delightful  pastimes,  so  enjoyable  to 
healthy  childhood,  were  all  his  to  try  in  turn, 
and  whether  he  was  rushing  like  a  little  madcap 
to  the  top  of  a  convenient  hill  to  catch  a  first  sight 
of  Major  Desmond  as  he  came  down  from  the 
higher  moors  with  the  rest  of  the  shooting-party, 
or  whether  he  was  helping  Miss  Letty  gather  great, 
picturesque  bunches  of  bracken  and  rowan  branches 
in  the  woods  for  the  decoration  of  the  house.  Boy 
was  unthinkingly  and  unquestioningly  happy. 
Winsome  and  bright,  he  behaved  like  the  real  child 
he  truly  was  in  years ;  he  had  no  time  to  go  away 
by  himself  into  little  corners  and  think,  for  there 
was  a  boy  named  Alister  McDonald,  two  years 
older  than  himself,  who  struck  up  a  friendship  with 
him,  and  had  no  sort  of  idea  of  leaving  him  alone. 
This  same  Alister  was  a  terrible  person.  He,  too, 
was  an  only  son,  but  his  father,  Colonel  McDonald, 
was  not  a  "  Poo  Sing,"  but  a  very  fine  specimen  of 
a  gentleman  at  his  best.  He  and  his  wife,  a  woman 
of  bright  disposition  and  sweet  character,  had 
brought  up  their  boy  to  love  all  things  bold,  manly, 
and  true,  and  Alister  had  developed  the  bold  and 
manly  by  doing  everything  in  the  world  that  could 
risk  his  life  and  get  him  into  a  pickle,  and  his  pres- 
ent way  of  serving  the  cause  of  truth  was  to  go  and 

ii6 


BOY. 

tell  everything  to  his  mother.  The  very  first  day 
he  made  acquaintance  with  Boy,  he  stuck  his  small 
hands  in  his  small  trouser  pockets  and  remarked 
airily, — 

"  I  suppose  you're  game  for  any  sort  of  a  lark, 
ain't  you?" 

"  I  suppose  I  am !"  Boy  answered,  with  a  touch 
of  reserved  assurance. 

"  All  right !  Then  we'll  be  pals !"  Alister  had 
answered,  and,  to  prove  his  sincerity,  took  Boy 
at  once  in  charge  and  escorted  him  straight  away 
to  a  mysterious  salmon-pool,  where,  trying  to  angle 
with  a  long  willow  wand,  a  bit  of  string,  and  a 
just-killed  wasp  instead  of  the  orthodox  fly,  they 
both  very  nearly  fell  in  and  made  an  end  of  their 
lives.  To  be  the  hero  of  hair-breadth  escapes 
suited  Alister  perfectly.  He  always  had  some  dark 
scheme  in  his  mind,  some  new  plan  for  generally 
alarming  and  exciting  the  neighbourhood.  But  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  all  the  people  in  the  place  had  got 
pretty  well  used  to  the  endless  scrapes  of  "  Maister 
Alister,"  as  they  called  him,  and  even  his  mother, 
whose  nerves  had  undergone  many  a  severe  trial 
concerning  the  delinquencies  of  her  only  darling, 
had  now  become  more  or  less  resigned  to  the  in- 
evitable. Two  or  three  days  of  each  other's  so- 
ciety were  enough  to  make  Boy  and  Alister  in- 
separables, and  many  a  hearty  roar  of  laughter 
did  their  strange  adventures  on  hill  and  moor,  by 
stream  and  loch,  cause  Major  Desmond  and  his 
sporting  friends,  while  kind  Miss  Letty,  with  two 

117 


BOY. 

or  three  other  pleasant  ladies  who  were  her  guests, 
laughed  with  them,  and  quickly  forgave  the  little 
truants  all  their  mischief. 

One  day  there  came  a  pause  in  the  merriment, — 
the  heroic  Alister  was  seized  with  a  raging  tooth- 
ache, a  malady  which  might  even  upset  the  calm 
of  an  Ajax.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  have 
the  worrying  tooth  pulled  out.  whereupon  Alister's 
mother  took  him  to  Edinburgh  for  the  necessary 
operation.  It  was  a  dull,  cloudy  sort  of  day ;  rain 
had  set  in  early  in  the  morning,  and  a  furious  gust 
of  wind  swept  the  fair  waters  of  Loch  Katrine  and 
bent  the  silvery  birches  to  and  fro  till  they  pre- 
sented the  weird  aspect  of  shivering  white  ghosts 
stooping  to  bathe  their  long  tresses  in  the  waters, 
and  anon  lifting  themselves  again  in  attitudes,  as 
it  seemed,  of  wild  despair  at  the  pitiless  storm. 
There  was  no  possibility  of  either  walking  or 
driving  or  boating,  and  Alister  being  away,  Boy 
was  rather  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  himself.  Miss 
Letty  saw  him  looking  a  little  wistful  and  wearied, 
and  at  once  took  him  in  hand  herself.  Putting 
her  arm  around  him,  she  said, — 

"  What  shall  we  do  to  amuse  ourselves,  Boy?" 

Boy  smiled  faintly. 

"  I  don't  know!"    he  said. 

"  Do  vou  like  pictures  as  much  as  you  used  to 
do?" 

Boy  hesitated. 

"  Some!"  he  said  dubiously;   "  not  all!" 

"  Did  you  bring  your  magic  lantern  with  you?" 
ii8 


BOY. 

Boy  opened  his  eyes  wide. 

"  Oh,  no !     That's  all  gone  to  pieces  long  ago." 

Miss  Letty  made  no  comment  on  the  magic 
lantern's  destruction. 

"  Well,  let's  ask  Margaret  what  there  is  among 
your  things  to  amuse  ourselves  with,"  she  said, 
cheerily.  "xA.ll  sorts  of  odds  and  ends  were  packed 
with  your  clothes." 

"  Were  there?"  said  Boy.  "  Mother  didn't  pack 
them — it  was  the  servant." 

Again  Miss  Letty  made  no  comment,  and  Boy, 
holding  her  by  the  arm,  went  with  her  to  Margaret, 
who,  on  being  questioned,  smiled,  and  opened  a 
cupboard  full  of  curious-looking  objects. 

"  They're  all  more  or  less  broken,  my  leddy !" 
she  said.  ''  But  the  coiv  is  here  as  good  as  it 
ever  was!" 

"  The  cow !"  and  Miss  Letty  laughed,  but  a 
little  moisture  sufifused  her  eyes. 

Boy  looked  at  her  questioningly. 

"  Wliat's  the  cow?"    he  asked. 

"Ah,  darling,  you  have  grown  to  be  such  a 
little  man  now  that  you  don't  remember  the  poor 
cow!"  said  Miss  Letty,  half  laughingly,  half 
sadly.     "  Where  is  it,  Margaret?" 

Margaret  selected  it  from  the  heap  in  the  cup- 
board and  gave  it  gingerly  into  the  hand  of  her 
mistress,  the  same  wise-looking  quadruped,  with 
its  movable  head  wagging  as  faithfully  as  ever. 
Boy  looked  at  it  with  a  smile  that  was  almost  de- 
risive. 

119 


BOY. 

"  That  a  cow !"    he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Letty;  "and  you  thought  it 
a  very  nice  cow  when  you  were  a  httle  child.  But 
you  have  grown  so  big  now,  though  you  are  only 
nine  years  old.  Oh,  don't  you  remember? — you 
used  to  call  it  '  Dunny.'  " 

Boy's  face  brightened  with  a  sudden  look  of 
recognition. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  now !"  he  said,  and  he 
gave  a  fillip  with  his  finger  to  the  head  of  the  de- 
spised "  Dunny"  to  set  it  wagging  faster.  "  That 
was  when  I  was  quite  a  baby!" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Leslie,  sorrowfully,  "  when 
you  were  quite  a*baby." 

She  held  the  cow  in  her  hand  tenderly — she 
would  not  put  it  back  among  the  broken  toys. 
But  she  said  no  more  about  it  just  then.  The  only 
thing  they  found  among  the  mass  of  rubbish  which 
had  been  thrust  into  Boy's  portmanteau  so  hastily 
by  his  mother's  maid-of-all-work  was  a  German 
war-game  which  Boy  proposed  to  play  with  Miss 
Letty. 

She  acceded,  and  together  they  went  down  to 
her  own  boudoir,  where  she  placed  "  Dunny"  on 
a  little  bracket  above  her  writing-desk,  and  then 
applied  herself  to  master  the  game  of  killing  as 
per  German  military  tactics.  Boy  proved  him- 
self an  extraordinary  adept  at  this  mechanical  war- 
fare, and  won  all  along  as  triumphantly  as  if  he 
had  been  the  owner  of  the  Mailed  Fist  himself. 
Indeed,  he  showed  an  extraordinary  amount  of 

1 20 


BOY. 

cunning,  which,  though  clever,  was  not  altogether 
as  lovable  and  child-like  as  Miss  Letty  in  her 
simplicity  of  soul  could  have  wished.  There  was 
a  vague  discomfort  in  her  mind  as  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  ignominiously  beaten.  For  though 
the  game  was  only  a  game,  it  had  its  fixed  rules, 
like  every  other,  and  Miss  Letty  was  sorely  wor- 
ried by  the  fancy — it  was  only  a  fancy — that  Boy 
had  been  trying  to  "  cheat"  in  a  peculiarly  adroit 
fashion.  She  would  not  allow  herself  to  dwell 
upon  the  point,  however,  and  when  she  put  away 
the  game  and  took  him  to  tea  in  the  drawing- 
room,  where  two  of  the  ladies  staying  in  the  house 
were  sitting  with  their  needlework  and  listening 
to  the  howling  wind  and  gusty  rain,  she  gave  him 
a  little  chair  by  the  side  of  the  bright  fire,  which 
was  necessary  on  such  a  chilly  day  in  Scotland, 
and  let  him  talk  as  he  liked  and  generally  express 
his  sentiments.  For  some  time  he  was  very  silent, 
contenting  himself  with  tea-cake  and  scones,  and 
only  occasionally  remarking  on  the  absence  of 
Alister  McDonald  and  the  suffering  he  was  now 
undergoing  with  his  tooth,  but  after  a  bit  he  be- 
gan to  ask  questions  and  unburden  his  mind  on 
sundry  matters,  encouraged  thereto  by  one  of  the 
ladies  present,  who  w^as  interested  by  his  win- 
some face,  clear  eyes,  and  light,  trim  little  figure. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  be  when  you  are  a 
man?"  she  asked. 

Boy  considered. 

"A  man  is  a  long  way  off,"  he  answered  gravely, 

121 


BOY. 

"  and,  you  see,  you  can  never  tell  what  may  hap- 
pen.    Dads  is  a  man,  but  he  isn't  anything." 

"  He's  an  officer  in  the  Army,  dear,"  corrected 
Miss  Letty,  gently, — "  a  retired  officer,  but  still 
an  officer." 

"  What  is  the  good  of  being  an  officer  if  you  re- 
tire before  you  ever  fight?"    asked  Boy. 

All  the  ladies  smiled,  but  volunteered  no  answer. 

"  You  see  it  wouldn't  be  any  use,"  went  on  Boy, 
reflectively  .  "  I  shouldn't  care  to  have  to  learn 
how  to  fight  if  1  wasn't  ever  wanted  to  do  it.  I 
think  I'd  rather  be  like  Rattling  Jack." 

"  Who  on  earth  is  Rattling  Jack  ?"  asked  the 
youngest  lady  present,  suppressing  a  laugh. 

"  He  is  an  old  man  at  home,"  explained  Boy. 
"  He  used  to  be  on  a  merchant-vessel,  trading  to 
India,  Japan,  and  China,  and  all  that,  and  he  says 
he  has  seen  nearly  the  whole  world.  People  say 
he's  got  a  lot  of  money  hidden  away  in  his  mat- 
tress, and  that  when  he  was  in  Ceylon  he  managed 
to  steal  a  ruby  worth  ten  thousand  pounds! 
Fancy!  Wasn't  that  clever  of  him?  And  he's 
got  it  still." 

"  Then  he's  a  thief !"  said  Miss  Letty,  trying  to 
look  severe.  "  It  isn't  at  all  clever  to  steal, — it's 
very  wicked.     He  must  be  a  bad  man." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  he  is,"  said  Boy,  with  a  little 
sigh.  "  But,  of  course,  the  person  from  whom  he 
stole  the  ruby  ought  to  have  come  after  him.  But 
he  never  did.  So  that  was  lucky!  And  some 
people  say  it's  only  a  bit  of  red  glass  he's  got." 

122 


BOY. 

"  Whatever  it  is,  a  bit  of  glass  or  a  ruby,  he 
had  no  business  to  steal  it,"  said  Miss  Letty. 

"  Oh,  but  he  hasn't  been  found  out,"  answered 
Boy,  "  and  he  doesn't  mind  telling  people  he's  got 
it"' 

There  was  a  pause.  Miss  Letty  was  a  trifle 
vexed;   the  other  two  ladies  were  merely  amused. 

"  I'll  tell  you  another  thing  about  him,"  said 
Boy,  suddenly  warming  into  confidence;  "  he  buys 
things  off  us." 

They  all  laughed  outright. 

"Buys  things  off  us!"  exclaimed  Miss  Letty. 
"Oh,  Boy,  dear,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  all  along  the  shore  there  are 
the  most  curious  things  washed  in  from  the  sea," 
said  Boy,  "  silver  spoons  and  forks  and  penknives 
and  boxes  and  sometimes  money.  Just  before  I 
came  away  I  found  a  gold  bracelet  in  the  sand, 
and  Rattling  Jack  gave  me  one-and-six-pence  for 
it,  and  he  had  it  cleaned,  and  it  was  solid  gold, 
and  he  sold  it  for  three  pounds.  Wasn't  that 
clever  of  him?" 

Again  the  laughter  broke  out,  but  Miss  Letty 
sighed. 

"  I  don't  think  Rattling  Jack  is  quite  a  nice  per- 
son for  you  to  talk  to,"  she  said.  "  Does  your 
mother  know  anything  about  him?" 

''  Oh,  no !  Mother  doesn't  know  anybody,  an- 
swered Boy,  candidly.    "  I  make  my  own  friends." 

"  Well,  we  don't  want  you  to  be  a  Rattling 
Jack,"  said  the  young  lady  who  had  before  spoken, 

123 


BOY. 

"  we  want  you  to  be  a  brave,  honest  man,  and  a 
gentleman.  You  must  try  for  the  Navy — not  the 
Merchant  Navy,  but  the  regular  fighting  Navy — 
the  Queen's  Navy." 

"  Yes,  you  never  get  higher  than  '  admiral' 
there!"  said  Boy,  with  a  matter-of-fact  cynicism. 
"  Rattling  Jack  told  me  that  was  just  an  honour 
without  sufficient  pay  to  keep  it  up.  It  isn't  worth 
working  for,  I  fancy." 

"  My  dear  Boy !"  exclaimed  Miss  Letty,  dis- 
tressed,— "  not  worth  working  for !  How  did  you 
get  such  ideas  in  your  head?  What  is  worth 
working  for?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Boy, — "  not  much, 
I  expect.  All  you  can  do  is  to  amuse  yourself, 
and  you  want  lots  of  money  for  that." 

The  pained  expression  deepened  on  Miss  Letty's 
sweet  old  face,  but  she  could  say  nothing  just  then, 
as  a  diversion  was  created  by  the  sudden  bouncing 
entrance  of  Alister  McDonald,  accompanied  by 
his  mother,  both  damp  with  rain,  but  both  with 
glowing  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes,  back  from 
Edinburgh,  and  fresh  from  their  drive  through 
the  storm  from  the  Callander  station. 

"  Please  excuse  us,"  laughed  Mrs.  McDonald, 
"  but  we  thought  you  might  be  having  tea  about 
this  time.     So  we  risked  coming  in." 

Miss  Leslie  welcomed  them  heartily,  with  the 
unaffected  sincerity  which  was  her  great  charm, 
and  ordered  fresh  tea  and  scones,  while  Alister, 
drawing  Boy  aside,  related  to  him  with  graphic 

124 


BOY. 

picturesqiieness  of  detail  his  thrilling  experiences 
at  the  dentist's. 

"  He  said,  would  I  have  gas  ?  I  said,  *  What 
is  gas?'  And  mother  said  it  was  a  stuff  you  took 
though  a  tube,  and  you  went  off  stiff  and  silly, 
and  didn't  know  what  was  going  on.  And  I  said 
no,  I  wouldn't  have  gas.  I  liked  to  know  what  was 
being  done  to  me,  anyhow.  '  It  will  hurt  you,  sir,' 
said  he.  I  said,  '  All  right,  it  hurts  now.'  '  Sit 
in  this  chair,'  he  said,  '  and  keep  still.'  I  sat  in  a 
big  chair  with  a  sort  of  iron  swivel  on  to  it,  and 
I  laid  my  head  back  and  opened  my  mouth  wide. 
And  he  looked  in.  And  I  thought  of  the  execution 
of  Charles  the  First !  Then  he  said,  '  Now,  sir, 
steady!'  And  he  put  a  thing  in  to  keep  my  jaw 
open.  Then  I  shut  my  eyes  and  repeated  in  my 
head, — 

'  The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck, 
When  all  but  him  had  fled  !' 

and  before  I  got  to  '  fled'  out  came  the  tooth  with 
a  big  prong  at  the  end.  And  I  never  cried.  And 
he  said  to  me,  '  Did  it  hurt  you  ?'  '  Not  a  bit,' 
said  I.  But  of  course  it  did.  Only  he  wasn't  go- 
ing to  crow  over  me — not  if  I  knew  it!  And  he 
didn't.  He  looked  pretty  small,  I  can  tell  you, 
with  that  tooth  in  his  nippers.  My !  what  scones  I 
Such  a  jolly  lot  of  butter!"  And  his  conversation 
terniinated  abruptly  in  a  huge  bite  of  the  succulent 
material  offered  to  him  by  one  of  the  ladies  al- 
ready on  duty  to  attend  on  his  budding  mascu- 
linity. 

125 


BOY. 

Boy  watched  him  enjoying  his  tea  with  wonder 
and  a  touch  of  envy.  He,  too,  would  have  bidden 
defiance  to  the  terrors  of  the  dentist  as  carelessly 
as  Alister,  but  it  would  have  been  out  of  sheer  in- 
difference, not  combativeness.  Here  was  the  con- 
trast between  the  temperaments  of  the  two  boys, 
and  a  very  serious  contrast  it  was.  The  slight 
affair  of  Alister's  tooth  was  a  test  of  character. 
Boy  would  have  gone  through  the  painful  ordeal 
with  quiet  stoicism  because  he  would  not  have  con- 
sidered it  worth  while  to  do  otherwise.  Alister 
went  through  it  with  the  idea  that  somehow  or 
other  he  was  more  than  a  match  for  the  dentist. 
Herein  was  the  varying  quality  of  environment 
which  would  make  of  the  one  boy  a  warm-blooded, 
courageous  man,  and  of  the  other  perhaps  a  lan- 
guid cynic.  Young  as  the  children  were,  any 
close  student  of  human  nature  could  trace  the 
diverging  possibilites  of  each  mind  already,  and 
the  uncomfortable  little  pang  at  Miss  Letty's  heart 
was  not  hurting  her  without  some  cause.  How- 
ever, she  was  not  of  a  morose  or  morbid  disposi- 
tion, and  she  would  not  allow  herself  to  give  way 
to  these  first  premonitions  of  doubt  as  to  Boy's 
development.  She  resolved  to  make  one  more 
effort  to  rescue  him  from  his  uncouth  home  sur- 
roundings, and  meanwhile  she  contented  herself 
with  letting  him  enjoy  his  holiday  as  much  as 
possible,  and  giving  him  all  the  liberty  he  seemed 
to  need. 

One  day,  however,  there  occurred  a  grand 
126 


BOY. 

catastrophe.  Major  Desmond  had  left  his  gun  in 
the  hall,  with  express  orders  that  it  was  not  to  be 
touched.  But  just  about  an  hour  before  dinner 
there  was  the  sound  of  a  tremendous  explosion  and 
a  crash  of  glass,  and  on  a  contingent  of  the  house- 
hold running  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  lo !  there 
was  the  major's  gun  in  the  same  place  and  position, 
but  a  charge  was  missing,  and  one  of  the  windows 
in  the  hall  was  shivered  to  atoms.  The  major  had 
a  temper,  and  he  lost  it  for  the  immediate  moment. 

"  Now,  who  has  done  this  ?"  he  shouted. 
"  Didn't  I  give  express  orders  that  my  gun  was  to 
be  left  alone?  By  Jove,  whoever  has  been  med- 
dling with  it  ought  to  have  a  sound  thrashing! 
Might  have  killed  somebody,  besides  breaking 
windows.     Come,  now,  who  did  it?" 

There  was  nobody  to  answer.  The  servants 
were  all  at  a  loss, — Boy  and  Alister  were  out  in 
the  grounds,  so  it  was  said, — no  one  had  touched 
the  gun, — it  must  have  gone  off  by  itself. 

"  D — d  nonsense!"  roared  the  major,  forgetting 
the  presence  of  Miss  Leslie,  who  stood  looking  at 
the  broken  window  in  perplexity.  "  I  put  the  gun 
up  in  a  safe  corner  out  of  harm's  way.  If  it  had 
gone  off  by  itself  the  charge  would  have  been 
lodged  in  the  ceiling,  not  through  the  window.  I 
am  not  such  an  ass  as  not  to  see  that.  Someone 
has  been  playing  pranks  with  it.     Where's  Boy?" 

"  Oh,  Boy  wouldn't  touch  it,"  protested  Miss 
Letty, — ''I'm  sure  he  wouldn't!" 

"  Well,  where  is  he?"  persisted  the  major.  "  He 
127 


BOY. 

may  know  something  about  it,"  and  marching  out- 
side the  door  he  called,  "  Boy !"  in  a  voice  strong 
enough  to  awaken  all  the  fabled  sleeping  giants  of 
the  hills. 

Boy  answered  the  call  with  quite  an  amazing 
promptitude. 

"Yes,  major!" 

The  major  stared. 

"Where  did  you  come  from  so  suddenly?"  he 
demanded.  "  You  young  rascal !  You  have  been 
meddling  with  my  gun !" 

"  I'm  sure  I  haven't,"  replied  Boy,  coolly. 

"Then  who  has?" 

"How  can  I  tell?"  said  Boy,  with  airy  indif- 
ference. 

"Boy!" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Look  at  me  straight." 

Boy  obeyed.  The  clear  eyes  met  the  major's 
stare  without  flinching. 

"  You  swear  on  your  honour — now,  sir,  remem- 
ber !  I  am  a  soldier,  and  '  on  your  honour'  is  a 
very  serious  thing  to  say — swear  on  your  honour 
that  you  never  touched  that  gun?" 

Boy  hesitated — just  a  second's  pause.  And 
suddenly  a  high,  piping  voice  called  out, — 

"  Own  up,  Boy!    Own  up!    Don't  be  caddish!" 

Boy  flushed  crimson  to  the  roots  of  his  fair  curls 
and  cast  down  his  eyes.  He  had  no  occasion  to 
speak.    The  major's  face  grew  grave  and  stern. 

"  You  may  go,  sir!" 

128 


BOY. 

"Oh,  Boy!" 

The  cry  came  from  Miss  Letty,  and  Boy  tried  to 
shuffle  past  without  looking  at  her,  but  she  caught 
him  by  the  arm. 

"  Boy,"  she  said,  her  sweet  voice  shaking  with 
suppressed  excitement,  "  how  could  you  tell  a  lie !" 

He  stopped,  uneasily  shifting  one  foot  against 
the  other  and  keeping  his  eyes  cast  down.  She 
stretched  out  her  soft,  kind  little  hand. 

"Come  with  me,"  she  continued;  "come  and 
talk  to  me  alone,  and  tell  me  why  you  were  so 
wicked,  and  then  we  will  go  and  ask  the  major's 
pardon." 

She  looked  at  him  fully.  And  her  sweet  face, 
and  tender  eyes  full  of  tears,  were  more  than  the 
child's  unnatural  stoicism  could  bear.  His  little 
chest  heaved,  his  lips  quivered. 

"  I — I "  and  he  got  no  further,  but  broke 

down  in  a  wild  fit  of  sobbing.  Miss  Letty  put  her 
arm  round  him  and  gently  led  him  away.  The 
major,  who  had  stood  grim  and  rigid  in  the  hall, 
watched  her  go  and  coughed  fiercely,  unaware  that 
the  ubiquitous  Alister  McDonald  was  standing  on 
the  threshold  of  the  hall  where  the  little  scene  had 
taken  place,  and  was  watching  him  inquisitively, 
with  his  little  hands  in  his  little  trouser  pockets  as 
usual. 

"Hullo,    major!"    said    this    imp,    "don't   you 


cry 


"Eh — what!     Cry!     Mc!     God  bless  my  soul! 
Go  to — the  North  Pole  with  you !"  snapped  out  the 
9  129 


BOY. 

major,  irascibly.  "  What  business  have  you  here, 
sir,  staring  at  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  come,  now,  I  say,"  returned  the  unabashed 
Ahster,  "  don't  be  raspy.  I  suppose  I  can  look  at 
you  as  well  as  anybody  else,  can't  I  ?  I  like  look- 
ing at  you." 

The  major  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  Oh,  you  do,  do  you  ?"  he  returned.  "  Much 
obliged  to  you,  I'm  sure." 

He  coughed  again,  laughed,  chuckled,  and  then 
settled  his  features  into  gravity. 

"  Now,  look  here,  you  scamp,"  he  said,  resting 
his  big  hand  on  Alister's  small  shoulder,  "  how  did 
it  happen?" 

"  Well,  we  were  playing  soldiers,"  explained  Al- 
ister,  "  and  I  was  the  Britisher,  and  he  was  the 
Britisher's  enemy.  He  was  half  starved,  and  he 
had  to  get  behind  an  entrenchment.  The  entrench- 
ment was  the  hall,  and  he  was  in  a  terrible  way, 
because,  you  see,  he  had  no  water,  no  food,  and  he 
was  run  down  with  fever-and-ague.  You  see,  I 
was  the  well-fed  Britisher,  and  I  had  everybody 
looking  after  me,  and  all  the  world  watching  what 
I  was  going  to  do,  and  I  had  prayers  put  up  for  me 
in  all  the  churches,  and  he  was  only  a  savage  and  a 
brother.  But  he  said,  '  I  have  got  a  way  to  surprise 
you,'  said  he,  and  he  turned  a  somersault,  and  he 
said,  '  Yah !'  as  savages  do,  you  know, — and  he 
ran  behind  his  entrenchment  (the  hall  door),  and 
just  without  thinking  took  up  the  gun  and  fired  it 
through  the  window.     I  was  lying  low  waiting 

130 


BOY. 

attack,  and  I  was  nearly  killed — not  quite — and 
then  he  was  frightened  and  ran  out,  and  we  said, 
'  We'll  be  brothers,'  and  we  hid  in  ambush,  and 
then  you  called " 

"  Yes,  that's  all  very  well,"  said  the  major,  sup- 
pressing his  strong  desire  to  grin  at  this  account  of 
warfare;   "  but  why  did  he  tell  a  lie?" 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  because  he  was  the  enemy,"  re- 
plied Alister,  calmly.  "  You  see,  in  the  camp  he 
had  nobody  watching  him,  and  no  churches  to  pray 
for  him, — he  was  only  a  savage!  I  expect  that's 
what  it  was." 

The  major  looked  reflective. 

"  Well,  now  you  had  better  go  away  home,"  he 
said.  "  There'll  be  no  more  fighting  or  games  be- 
tween Christian  brotherhoods  to-day.  Boy  will 
have  to  be  punished." 

Alister's  small  face  became  exceedingly  serious. 

"  I  say,  don't  be  hard  on  him,"  he  said,  expostu- 
latingly.     "  He's  such  a  little  chap." 

The  major  preservd  his  solemnity. 

"  He's  only  two  years  younger  than  you  are — 
quite  old  enough  to  know  how  to  tell  the  truth." 

"  Has  he  got  a  mother  ?"  asked  Alister. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  you  see,  she  isn't  here,  and  he  can't  go 
and  ask  her  about  it,  so  perhaps  he  got  a  bit  mud- 
dled like.    I  hope  you  will  let  him  down  easy." 

The  major  bit  his  lips  under  his  fuzzy  white 
moustache,  to  hide  the  smile  that  threatened  to 
break  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  as  the  young  gentle- 

131 


BOY. 

man,  after  giving  expression  to  these  sentiments, 
sauntered  off  somewhat  dejectedly,  and  then, 
turning  into  the  house,  put  away  the  gun  that  had 
been  the  cause  of  all  the  mischief,  and  went  round 
to  the  stables  to  devise  some  means  of  stuffing  up 
the  broken  window  in  the  hall  for  the  night.  And 
his  thoughts  were  touched  with  sorrow  as  well  as 
pity. 

''  Unfortunate  little  chap !"  he  muttered.  "  Once 
let  him  take  to  lying,  and  he  is  done  for.  All  the 
Lettys  in  the  world  could  not  save  him.  I  wonder 
how  the  devil  he  came  to  begin  it?  It  is  not  his 
first  lie — he  did  it  too  well,  and  looked  too  cool  for 
it.    I  should  like  to  know  how  he  began." 

And  this  was  just  what  Miss  Letty  was  finding 
out,  bit  by  bit,  as  she  sat  in  her  own  quiet  room 
with  Boy  on  her  knee  clasped  in  her  arms,  and 
talking  to  him  gently.  She  heard  all  about  his  life 
on  the  sea-shore,  and  the  little  scavengers  he  met 
there  who  had  taught  him  how  clever  it  was  "  to 
do"  people,  and  to  cheat,  and  generally  mislead  and 
deceive  the  simple  and  unsuspecting;  and  as  she 
listened  to  the  strange  moral  axioms  he  had  picked 
up,  and  gradually  gathered  from  him  as  he  talked 
some  idea  of  the  lonely  life  he  led,  uncared  for  and 
untaught,  save  in  the  most  superficial  and  slip-shod 
fashion,  her  heart  warmed  to  him  more  and  more 
with  an  almost  painful  tenderness ;  and  when,  with 
a  short  sigh,  he  paused  in  his  disjointed  narrative, 
the  tears  were  heavy  in  her  eyes.  She  set  him 
gently  down  from  her  knee  and  kissed  him. 

132 


BOY. 

"  We'll  say  no  more  about  it,  Boy,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  Run  to  the  major  and  tell  him  you  are 
very  sorry,  and  that  you  will  never  tell  a  lie  again." 

Boy  hesitated  a  moment.  Then,  impulsively 
throwing  his  arms  round  her  neck  and  kissing  her, 
he  ran  quickly  away.  He  found  the  major  in  the 
billiard-room  reading  his  newspaper  and  smoking, 
and  went  straight  up  to  him. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  sir,"  he  faltered. 

Major  Desmond  laid  down  his  paper  and  looked 
at  him  full  in  the  face,  with  the  straight,  steel-blue 
eyes  that  had  in  them  as  much  command  as  ten- 
derness. 

"  Sorr}^  for  what?"  he  demanded,  "  for  touch- 
ing the  gun,  or  for  telling  a  lie?" 

Boy's  heart  swelled,  and  his  eyes  were  misty  and 
aching. 

"  For  both,  sir,"  he  said. 

The  major  held  out  his  hand,  and  Boy  laid  his 
own  little,  trembling,  hot  fingers  in  that  cool,  clean 
palm. 

"  That's  right!"  said  Desmond.  "  Disobedience 
is  bad,  but  a  lie  is  worse, — don't  do  either.  Is  that 
agreed  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Boy  answered  bravely  enough,  but  his  spirit  sank 
as  he  thought  that  if  he  never  disobeyed,  his  obedi- 
ence, instead  of  a  virtue,  would  oblige  him  to  do 
the  most  foolish  and  unnecessary  things  under  his 
mother's  orders,  and  if  he  never  told  a  lie,  his  hours 
of  freedom  and  play  would  be  considerably  if  not 

133 


BOY. 

altogether  curtailed,  and  he  be  made  the  poor  little 
peg  on  which  his  parents  would  hang  their  many 
quarrels  and  discussions.  The  major  noticed  the 
touch  of  hesitation  in  his  answer  as  well  as  in  his 
manner  and  did  not  like  it.  But  he  repressed  his 
own  forebodings  and  smiled  cheerily  down  upon 
the  small,  forlorn  lad  in  whom  lay  the  budding 
promise  of  a  man  who  might,  or  might  not,  be  fit 
for  good  fighting  in  the  combat  of  life. 

"  When  you  are  bigger  and  stronger  I'll  show 
you  how  to  handle  a  gun,"  he  said.  "At  present 
you  are  too  small  a  chap.  You  would  blow  your- 
self into  bits  as  easily  as  you  blew  out  the  hall 
window.  Now  come  along  with  me  and  I'll  show 
you  the  birds  we  got  to-day." 

He  strode  out  into  the  grounds,  and  Boy  fol- 
lowed him  with  an  odd  mixture  of  feeling.  Sor- 
row and  shame,  united  to  wonder  and  scorn,  put 
him  into  a  mental  condition  not  easy  to  explain. 
To  his  childish  mind  it  seemed  difficult  to  under- 
stand why  Major  Desmond  and  Miss  Letty  should 
be  such  straight,  honest,  sober  folk,  and  his  own 
father  and  mother  such  shiftless,  indifferent,  care- 
less people. 

"  They  don't  seem  to  see  that  a  boy  can't  do 
just  as  well  with  a  father  who  doesn't  care  about 
him  as  he  could  with  a  father  who  does,"  he 
mused.  "  I  suppose  I'm  bound  to  be  a  lonely 
boy." 

And  he  trotted  on  in  silence  beside  the  major, 
and  looked  at  the  beautiful  shot  grouse  and  black- 

134 


BOY. 

cock,  and  was  very  attentive  and  docile  and  re- 
spectful, and  the  major  felt  a  twinge  of  pain  in 
his  good  heart  as  he  realized  that  Boy  had  plenty 
of  material  in  him  for  the  making  of  a  worthy 
manhood,  material  which  was  being  thrown  away 
for  want  of  proper  management  and  training.  He 
confided  his  feelings  on  this  subject  to  Miss  Leslie 
that  night,  in  the  company  of  a  brother  officer, 
who,  like  himself,  was  on  the  retired  list,  and  had 
few  joys  left  in  life  save  the  love  of  sport  and  a 
good  game  of  chess  or  billiards.  Captain  Fitz- 
gerald Crosby — or  "  Fitz,"  as  he  was  generally 
called — was  a  fine,  upright  personage,  with  a  most 
alarmingly  grim  and  rigid  cast  of  countenance 
which  rather  repelled  timid  people  on  first  intro- 
duction. He  was  "  a  cross-looking  old  boor"  with 
all  the  ladies  until  he  smiled.  Then  such  a  radiance 
played  in  his  quiet  grey  eyes,  and  such  a  kindness 
softened  the  lines  of  his  mouth  and  smoothed  away 
the  furrows  of  his  brows,  that  he  was  voted  a 
"  darling"  instantly.  On  this  occasion,  when 
Major  Desmond  started  off  expatiating  on  the 
waste  of  Boy's  life,  and  Miss  Letty  paused  in  her 
knitting,  listening  to  his  remarks  with  sorrowful 
attention,  Fitz  looked  particularly  glum,  hand- 
ling his  billiard-cue  thoughtfully,  and  staring  at 
its  point  as  though  it  were  a  magic  wand  to  con- 
jure with. 

"  There's  a  good  deal  of  waste  everywhere,  it 
seems  to  me,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  The  scientific 
fellows  tell  us  that  nothing  is  wasted  in  the  way 

135 


BOY. 

of  matter, — every  grain  of  dust  and  every  drop  of 
dew  has  got  its  own  special  business  and  is  of 
special  use;  but,  upon  my  word,  when  you  come 
to  think  of  the  finer  things, — love  and  hope  and 
goodness  and  charity  and  all  the  rest  of  it, — it 
seems  nothing  but  waste  all  along.  There's  a 
great  waste  of  love  especially." 

The  major  coughed,  and  hit  a  ball  viciously. 

"  Yes,  there's  a  great  waste  of  love,"  went  on 
the  unheeding  and  still  gloomily  frowning  Fitz. 
"  We  set  our  hearts  on  a  thing,  and  it's  immedi- 
ately taken  from  us;  we  work  all  our  days  for 
a  promising  son  or  a  favourite  daughter,  and  they 
frequently  turn  out  more  ungrateful  than  the  very 
dogs  we  feed;  and,  as  Byron  says,  'Alas,  our 
young  affections  run  to  waste  and  water  but  the 
desert' !  Byron  was  the  only  poet  who  ever  lived, 
in  my  opinion." 

Major  Desmond  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Fitz,  you're  a  regular  old 
croaker  this  evening,  aren't  you?  You're  making 
our  hostess  quite  miserable." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Miss  Letty,  brightly,  for  with 
her  usual  sweetness  she  never  thought  of  her  own 
"  wasted  young  affections"  at  all,  but  only  of  the 
disappointments  of  her  friends,  and  she  knew  that 
Fitz  had  suffered.  "  I  feel,  with  Captain  Crosby, 
that  some  things  are  very  hard  for  us  to  under- 
stand. But  I  think  myself  that  just  as  no  drop 
of  dew  or  grain  of  dust  is  wasted,  so  no  kind 
action  or  true  love  is  wasted  either.     It  may  seem 

136 


BOY. 

so,  but  it  is  not.  And  let  us  hope  poor  Boy  will 
be  all  right.  But  he  certainly  ought  to  be  sent 
to  school.  I  think" — here  she  paused  and  looked 
up  smiling, — "  I  think  I  shall  have  another  try." 

The  major  paused  in  his  game,  while  his  friend 
Fitz  glowered  sullenly  at  the  balls. 

"You  will,  Letty?  You  mean  you  will  try  to 
give  the  little  chap  another  chance  of  proper  edu- 
cation ?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Miss  Letty,  bending  over 
her  knitting,  while  her  needles  clicked  cheerily  in 
her  small,  pretty  hands.  "  I  will  write  very  earn- 
estly to  both  Captain  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  and 
make  a  perfectly  plain,  practical,  business  proposal 
to  them.  If  they  refuse  it,  well,  I  shall  have  re- 
lieved my  feelings  by  asking." 

A  sudden  radiance  seemed  to  illuminate  the 
billiard-table,  but  it  was  only  Fitz  smiling  across  it. 

"  Just  like  you.  Miss  Letty,"  he  said.  "  When- 
ever there  is  something  good  to  be  done,  you  are 
the  one  to  do  it." 

Miss  Letty  shook  her  head  deprecatingly  and 
went  on  with  her  knitting  for  a  while;  then  pres- 
ently she  retired  to  bed  after  sending  in  whiskeys 
and  sodas  to  the  two  gentlemen  to  refresh  them- 
selves while  finishing  their  game.  Fitz  had  turned 
crusty  again,  apparently.  Jerking  his  hand  back- 
ward towards  the  door  through  which  Miss  Letty 
had  disappeared  after  saying  her  gentle  good- 
night, he  demanded, — 

"  Why  didn't  you  marry  her?" 
137 


BOY. 

"  Because  she  wouldn't  have  me,"  repHed  the 
major,  promptly. 

"Why  wouldn't  she  have  you?" 

"  Because  she  is  keeping  faith  with  a  dead  rascal. 
Expects  to  meet  him  somewhere  in  heaven  by 
and  by.  Lord,  if  ever  a  liar  and  scamp  deserves 
to  wear  a  crown  of  gold  and  sing  'Hallelujah!' 
then  Harry  Raikes  is  a  real  live  angel  and  no  mis- 
take!" 

"  Upon  my  word !"  said  Fitz,  slowly,  "  I  think 
it's  liars  and  scoundrels  generally  who  consider  that 
they're  the  very  people  fitted  for  gold  crowns  in 
heaven.  Now  /  don't  expect  a  gold  crown.  I 
don't  consider  myself  worth  an  angel's  feather,  let 
alone  a  pair  of  angel's  wings.  But  I  have  a  pious 
uncle — old  as  Methuselah — who  goes  to  church 
three  times  a  day  and  slangs  all  his  neighbors  who 
don't,  and  will  you  believe  me,  he  has  an  idea  that 
God  is  thoroughly  well  pleased  with  him  for  that. 
What  a  blasphemous  old  beggar  it  is!" 

He  laughed,  and  in  his  enjoyment  allowed  the 
major  to  win  the  game  at  billiards.  Then,  put- 
ting up  his  cue,  he  mixed  a  mild  glass  of  whiskey 
and  water  and  drank  it  off. 

"  I'll  go  to  bed  now,  Dick,"  he  said.  "  I  don't 
stay  up  as  late  as  I  used  to." 

"  We're  getting  on,  Fitz,  that's  why,"  replied 
Desmond.     "  We're  getting  on,  that's  what  it  is." 

"  Yes,  that's  what  it  is,"  returned  Fitz,  cheerily, 
"  but  I  really  don't  mind.     Getting  on  means  get- 


138 


BOY. 

ting  out — getting  out  of  this  world  into  a  better. 
Good-night,  old  chap." 

"  Good-night." 

And  the  two  worthy  old  gentlemen  went  to  their 
respective  rooms  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just. 
But  there  were  two  other  people  in  the  house  who 
could  not  sleep  at  all  that  night — these  were  Aliss 
Letty  and  Boy.  Miss  Letty  was  grieving  for 
Boy,  and  Boy  was  grieving  for  himself.  What 
was  she  to  do  about  Boy?  Miss  Leslie  thought. 
What  was  he  to  do  about  himself?  Boy  thought. 
Miss  Letty  felt  that  if  she  could  only  get  Boy  away 
from  his  home  surroundings,  and  place  him  at  a 
good  English  preparatory  school,  she  would  per- 
haps be  the  saving  of  him.  Boy  felt  that  if  he  could 
only  run  away  somewhere  on  one  of  those  ambi- 
tious expeditions  which  Alister  McDonald  was 
always  telling  him  about  he  might,  to  put  it  grandly, 
make  a  career.  But  the  world  was  broad  and  wide, 
and  he  was  very  small  and  young.  Difficulties 
bristled  in  his  path,  and  he  had  not  the  heart  nor 
the  strength  to  face  them  even  in  thought.  The 
spark  of  an  aspiring  intelligence  was  within  him, 
but  the  influences  were  all  against  its  kindling  up 
into  a  useful  or  brilliant  flame. 

The  next  day  saw  him  again  at  play  with  Alis- 
ter, and  the  two  boys  went  out  on  Loch  Katrine 
together  in  a  boat  to  fish  for  trout.  They  were 
not  very  skilled  fishermen,  and  there  was  a  good 
deal  more  splashing  about  with  the  line  and  pat- 
ting the  water  with  the  oars  than  anything  else. 

139 


BOY. 

They  stayed  wobbling  about  on  the  friendly  lake 
till  sunset,  and  then,  as  they  saw  the  majestic  king 
of  the  sky  descend  into  the  west,  glorious  in  pano- 
ply of  gold  and  crimson,  with  fleecy  white  clouds 
rolling  themselves  into  a  great  canopy  for  his  head, 
and  a  wide  stretch  of  crimson  spreading  beneath 
him  like  a  carpet  for  his  march  downward,  both 
the  little  fellows  were  suddenly  overcome  by  a 
sense  of  awe,  and  watched  the  brilliant  colours  of 
the  heavens  and  the  purple  shadows  of  the  moun- 
tains reflected  on  the  water  in  silence  for  many 
minutes. 

"  I  say.  Boy,  what  are  you  going  to  be?"  asked 
Alister,  after  a  long  pause. 

Boy  answered  with  truth,  "  I  don't  know." 

"  I'm  going  to  be  a  soldier,"  said  Alister.  "  It's 
a  fine  thing  to  be  a  soldier.  Though  father  says  a 
soldier  can't  get  a  drink  if  he  wants  to,  unless  he 
takes  off  his  uniform  first.  Isn't  that  battish  ?  But 
whenever  we  have  another  war  we're  going  to 
keep  our  uniforms  on  and  drink  in  them  whenever 
we  want  to." 

"  And  will  you  go  and  fight?"  asked  Boy,  wist- 
fully. 

"  Rather !  Let  me  hear  anyone  abusing  Eng- 
land, and  I'll  run  them  straight  through  with  my 
sword  in  no  time!" 

"Will  you? — really?"  And  Boy  looked  re- 
spectfully at  Alister's  round'  face,  already  seeing 
the  martial  hero  in  the  saucy  physiognomy  of  his 


140 


BOY. 

friend, — the  sparkling  eyes,  the  defiant  little  nose, 
and  the  chubby,  dimpled  chin. 

"  When  you're  a  soldier,  you're  a  defender  of 
the  country,"  went  on  Alister;  "and  the  Queen 
says,  '  Thank  you  very  much ;  I  hope  you'll  do 
your  duty.'  And  you  get  medals  and  things,  and 
the  Victoria  Cross.  That's  what's  called  a  V.  C. 
I  know  a  man  who's  got  that,  and  he's  just  as 
proud  as  Punch.  He's  one  of  father's  friends. 
But  he's  awfully  poor — awfully.  And  he's  got 
rheumatism  through  having  slept  out  several 
nights  on  a  field  of  battle,  and  he's  all  cramped  and 
funny,  with  twisted  legs  and  crooked  fingers,  but 
he's  just  as  proud  as  Punch  of  his  V.  C." 

Boy  tried  to  grasp  the  picture  of  a  gentleman 
who  was  "all  cramped  and  funny,  with  twisted 
legs  and  crooked  fingers,"  who  was  "  just  as  proud 
as  Punch."  But  he  could  not  do  it.  And  Alister, 
putting  up  his  oars,  said,  "  Let's  have  some  music," 
and  forthwith  drew  out  a  concertina  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  boat  and  discoursed  thereon  a  wailful 
ear-piercing  melody.  Boy  had  heard  him  play  this 
distressing  instrument  before,  but  never  quite  so 
dolefully.  The  melancholy,  snoring  sounds  ema- 
nating from  between  Alister's  fat  fingers  seemed 
to  cast  a  gloom  over  the  landscape,  to  make  the 
mountains  around  them  look  darker  and  more 
eerie,  to  give  a  melodramatic  effect  to  the  sinking 
sun,  and  to  suggest  the  possibility  of  bogies  and 
kelpies  trooping  down  on  the  Silver  Strand  to 
perform  a  fantastic  dance  thereon.  Alister  thought 

141 


BOY. 

his  own  playing  quite  beautiful ;  Boy  considered 
it  lovely,  but  too  dreadful.  When  he  could  bear  it 
no  more  he  ventured  to  disturb  the  performance. 

"I  say,  Mister!" 

Alister's  eyes  had  closed  in  a  dumb  ecstasy  over 
a  particularly  prolonged  and  dismal  chord,  but  he 
opened  them  quickly  and  stopped  playing. 

"What?" 

"  How  do  you  start  being  a  soldier?" 

"  You  go  to  school  first — preparatory,"  said 
Alister,  putting  away  the  concertina,  much  to  Boy's 
relief.  "  I'm  there  now.  Then  you  go  to  a  regu- 
lar public  military  training-school,  and  you  learn 
heaps  and  heaps  of  things ;  then  you  are  measured 
and  weighed,  and  your  chest  is  thumped  and  your 
teeth  looked  to;  then,  if  that's  all  right,  you  per- 
haps go  to  Sandhurst,  and  then  you  pass  all  sorts 
of  sti£f  exams.  In  fact,"  said  Alister,  warming 
with  his  subject,  "  you  learn  everything!  There's 
nothing  that  you're  not  expected  to  know.  Think 
of  that !  And  you  must  keep  your  teeth  all  right, 
and  your  chest  sound,  and  you  must  grow  to  a  cer- 
tain height.  Oh,  there's  lots  to  do  all  round,  I  can 
tell  you." 

"  I  see." 

Boy's  heart  sank,  but  he  determined  to  ask  to  be 
sent  to  school  directly  he  went  home  again.  He 
would  not,  if  he  could  help  it,  remain  under  the 
tuition  of  Rattling  Jack. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  school  ?"  queried  Alister. 

"  I  hope  so." 

142 


BOY. 

"  Come  to  mine,"  said  Alister,  "  it's  awfully 
jolly;  we  play  cricket  and  football  and  hockey, 
and  we  have  supper-fights  and  no  end  of  larks. 
Ask  your  father  to  send  you  to  mine;  I'll  give  you 
the  address  when  we  get  home." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Boy,  with  an  attempt  to  look 
as  if  the  going  to  Alister's  school  would  be  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world ;  "  I  will  see  if  I  can 
come." 

Poor  little  lad !  He  had  no  more  hope  of  being 
sent  to  Alister's  school  than  of  being  carried  off 
in  a  fairy  boat  to  the  moon.  But  he  thought  a 
great  deal  about  school  that  night  when  he  had 
parted  from  his  little  chum. 

"  I'll  tell  mother  I  want  to  go  to  school,"  he 
said  to  himself;  "that  can  do  no  harm.  If  she 
won't  send  me,  I'll  have  to  run  away." 

Meanwhile  Miss  Leslie  wrote  long  and  very 
earnest  letters  to  both  Captain  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir.  Once  more  she  offered  to  make  Boy  her 
heir,  on  condition  that  she  should  be  allowed  to 
take  care  of  him  and  control  his  education.  Her 
letters  arrived  at  their  destination  when  the  Hon- 
ourable Jim  was  snoring  the  hours  away  in  a  heavy 
drunken  sleep,  and  naturally  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir 
read  the  one  intended  for  her  husband  as  well  as 
the  one  addressed  to  herself.  She  smiled  a  fat 
smile  as  she  commended  the  one  written  to  Jim 
("Like  her  impudence!"  she  murmured  to  her- 
self) to  the  convenient  flames,  and  resolved  to  say 
nothing  about  it.      ("  For  the  education  of  my 

143 


BOY. 

son,"  she  said,  "is  my  affair!")  She  laid  her 
large  hand  on  her  large  breast  with  an  approving 
and  consolatory  pat.  To  be  a  "  mother"  was  a 
great  thing. 

"Silly  old  woman!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  her  stout  bust  heaving  with  matronly  of- 
fence. "  She  has  lost  all  her  own  matrimonial 
chances, — she  would  insist  on  sticking  to  the  mem- 
ory of  Harry  Raikes, — and  there  she  is,  of  course, 
all  alone  in  the  world,  and  wants  my  boy  to  be  a 
son  to  her.  Poor,  dear  child!  A  nice  time  he 
would  have  of  it,  a  slave  to  an  old  maid's  fads  and 
fancies !" 

So  she  sat  down  and  wrote  the  following  letter. 
She  had  a  shocking  handwriting, — it  sloped  down- 
ward and  sideways  all  over  a  sheet  of  paper,  in  very 
much  the  way  her  mind  sloped  and  went  sideways 
likewise. 

"My  Dear  Letitia: — I  am  sorry  to  see  from 
the  tone  of  your  letter  that  you  are  still  feeling  so 
lonely.  Of  course,  it  is  very  hard  for  you  to  be 
all  alone  at  your  age,  and  I  am  very  sorry  for  you. 
But  to  part  with  my  son  to  you  as  you  suggest  is 
quite  out  of  the  question.  A  mother's  claims  are 
paramount!  I  am  sure  you  would  be  very  nice 
to  him,  and  the  dear  boy  deserves  everything  that 
can  possibly  be  done  for  his  advantage,  but  his 
mother  must  preside  over  his  education.  I  am 
sure  that,  though  unmarried  yourself,  you  will 
see  the  force  of  this.     If,  however,  you  still  decide 

144 


BOY. 

to  make  him  your  heir,  I  am  sure  he  will  be  very 
worthy  of  it,  and  always  remember  you  affection- 
ately after  you  are  gone.  We  shall  expect  our  son 
home  next  week,  and  hope  that  Major  Desmond 
will  be  able  to  escort  him. 

"  Yours  very  sincerely, 

"  Amelia  D'Arcy-Muir." 

This  letter  was  the  charter  of  Boy's  doom.  Not 
all  the  stars  in  their  courses  would  be  able  to  alter 
his  fate  from  henceforth.  Miss  Leslie  cried  quietly 
to  herself  in  her  room  for  nearly  an  hour,  then 
bathed  her  eyes,  smoothed  her  hair,  and  attended 
to  her  household  duties  as  placidly  and  sweetly  as 
ever.  She  never  spoke  to  Boy  at  all  on  the  subject. 
To  Major  Desmond  and  his  friend  Fitz  she  said 
simply, — 

"  I  wrote  to  Boy's  mother  and  father.  But  It  is 
no  use." 

"  I  thought  not,"  said  the  major,  gruffly. 

"  Poor  little  chap !"  said  Fitz. 

And  by  tacit  consent  they  dropped  the  subject. 

But  one  day  before  Boy  went  back  to  his  loving 
parents.  Miss  Leslie  took  him  out  by  himself  for  a 
walk  with  her  through  the  beautiful  Pass  of  Ach- 
ray,  and  there,  sitting  down  by  the  dry  and  fragrant 
heather  brilliant  with  bloom,  she  talked  to  him 
gently,  holding  his  little  grimy  hand  in  her  own. 

"  Boy,"  she  said,  "  if  you  ever  want  anything, 
will  you  write  to  me?  You  caji,  write  now,  can't 
you?" 

lo  145 


BOY. 

Boy  nodded,  looking  a  trifle  pale  and  startled. 

"  Suppose,"  went  on  Miss  Leslie,  feeling  some- 
thing like  a  wicked  conspirator  as  she  suggested 
it, — "  suppose  you  wanted  to  go  to  school  and  your 
father  wouldn't  let  you,  do  you  think — do  you 
think — you  could  run  away  to  me  ?" 

And  the  gentle  lady's  soft  cheeks  crimsoned  at 
the  audacity  of  this  proposal. 

But  Boy's  eyes  glittered.  This  was  like  one  of 
Alister's  adventures. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  breathlessly,  "  I'm  sure  I 
could!" 

"  Well,  well — we  will  hope  that  won't  be  neces- 
sary," said  Miss  Leslie,  hastily.  "  You  mustn't, 
of  course,  ever  do  such  a  thing  unless  you  are 
quite  driven  to  it.  But  if  you  are  in  trouble  of  any 
sort,  write  to  me,  and  I  will — I  will  meet  you  any- 
where." This  with  a  hazy  notion  that  if  it  were 
the  North  Pole  she  would  somehow  manage  to  be 
there. 

Boy  threw  his  arms  round  her  neck  and  kissed 
her. 

"  Oh,  you  are  good — good !"  he  said.  "  I  wish 
I  were  your  Boy !" 

Miss  Letty  patted  him  with  a  trembling  hand, 
but  was  silent. 

The  bees  buzzed  drowsily  in  the  heather  bells, 
— the  blue  sky  was  flecked  with  beautiful  white 
clouds,  and  the  lights  and  shadows  changed  the 
aspect  of  the  mountains  every  few  minutes.  A 
little  "  burnie"   chattered  at  their  feet,  gurgling 

146 


BOY. 

over  the  stones  and  pebbles,  and  chuckling  among 
the  ferns  and  grasses,  and  over  its  silver,  ribbon- 
like streak  two  gorgeous  dragon-flies  chased  each 
other,  the  sunlight  flashing  gold  upon  their  irides- 
cent wings. 

"  I  wish  I  could  stay  with  you  altogether,"  said 
Boy,  taking  off  his  cap  and  ruffling  his  pretty  fair 
hair  with  his  hands  in  a  sort  of  nervous  agitation, 
— "  I  feel  so  happy  with  you !  See  how  lovely 
it  all  is  to-day !    God  seems  really  good  out  here." 

"  God  is  really  good  always,  darling,"  said  Miss 
Letty. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  He  is,  but  where  we  are  He 
doesn't  seem  good  a  bit.  The  people  are  dirty  and 
miserable  and  poor, — and  even  the  sea  looks 
cruel !" 

"  Poor  Boy !"  murmured  Miss  Letty  to  herself, 
quickly  understanding  the  sense  of  loneliness  and 
bitterness  which  sometimes  overpowered  the  child's 
mind.     Aloud  she  said,  as  cheerily  as  she  could, — 

"  That's  only  fancy.  Boy !  Everything  is  good 
and  beautiful  in  the  world  as  God  made  it  and 
intended  it  to  be;  it's  only  the  bad  dispositions 
and  wickednesses  of  men  that  make  things  seem 
difficult.  But  if  you  are  good  and  straightfor- 
ward everything  will  come  right,  and  you  will 
perhaps  understand  why  you  are  sometimes  a  little 
bit  sad  and  lonely  now.     I  daresay  it's  all   for 

your  good "    She  paused,  because  in  her  own 

clear  soul  she  could  not  think  it  was  quite  for  the 
little  fellow's  good  that  he  should  have  a  drunken 

147 


BOY. 

father  and  a  sloven  mother.  "  Promise  me  one 
thing,  Boy,"  she  went  on,  "  never  tell  a  lie.  Lies 
come  to  no  good;  and  when  you  go  to  school — 
for  I  expect  you  will  go  to  school — you  will  find 
that  all  nice  English  boys  are  brought  up  to  be 
frank  and  true  and  to  stand  upon  their  honour.  If 
a  boy  tells  a  lie  to  shield  himself,  he  is  looked  upon 
as  a  coward  by  all  his  school-fellows.  Remember 
that!  No  matter  what  scrapes  you  get  into,  tell 
the  truth  right  out,  without  the  least  fear,  and  you 
may  be  sure  you  are  doing  well.  Even  if  you  get 
punished,  a  day's  punishment  is  much  better  than 
a  lie  on  your  conscience." 

Boy  listened  reverently. 

"  I'll  remember,"  he  said. 

"That's  right!"  And  Miss  Letty  took  him 
again  in  her  arms  and  kissed  him.  "  God  bless 
you,  dear!  Try  and  grow  up  a  good  man.  You 
will  have  a  great  many  troubles  and  difficulties,  I 
daresay — we  all  have — but  go  on  trying, — try 
always  to  be  a  good,  brave  man !" 

Boy  returned  her  embrace  with  fervour  and 
promised.  After  this  they  went  home,  and  the 
end  of  the  week  saw  Boy  back  again  in  the  remote 
fishing  village  with  his  mother  only.  His  father 
had  gone  away  on  a  yachting  trip  with  a  friend 
as  fond  of  the  bottle  as  himself,  and  some  unkind 
people  said  what  a  good  thing  it  would  be  if  the 
yacht  should  go  down  quietly  in  the  waves  and 
make  a  speedy  end  of  the  two  convivialists.  Boy 
was  personally  rather  glad  of  his  father's  absence, 

148 


BOY. 

as  he  thought  it  gave  him  a  better  chance  to  discuss 
things  with  his  mother.  For  the  first  one  or  two 
days  after  his  return  he  was  very  reticent,  he  did 
not  say  much  about  his  hohday  in  Scotland,  but 
only  mentioned  his  little  friend  Alister  McDon- 
ald. 

"  Who  is  he?"  demanded  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir. 

"  Oh,  he's  just  Alister  McDonald,"  answered 
Boy. 

"  Don't  be  stupid.  Boy.  I  mean,  who  is  his 
father?" 

"Does  that  matter?" 

"  Matter !  Of  course  it  matters.  Family  is 
everything.  You  must  belong  to  a  good  family 
for  you  to  be  anybody." 

"  Must  you  ?    Then  how  about  Robert  Burns  ?" 

"Robert  Burns?"  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir's  mouth 
opened  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,"  went  on  Boy,  dauntlessly.  "  I  heard 
all  about  him  in  Scotland;  they're  always  talking 
about  him.  Robert  Burns  was  a  ploughman,  and 
he  wrote  such  beautiful  things  that  everybody,  even 
now,  though  he  is  dead  ever  so  long  ago,  wants  to 
try  and  make  out  that  they're  connected  with  him 
in  some  way  or  other.  Is  that  what  you  mean  by 
a  good  family?" 

"  No,  I  don't — certainly  not !"  snapped  out  his 
mother.  "  Robert  Burns  was  a  very  disreputable 
person.  People  who  write  poetry  usually  are.  I 
didn't  ask  you  who  Robert  Burns  was;  I  asked 
you  who  your  friend  Alister's  father  was." 

149 


BOY. 

"  Colonel  McDonald,"  answered  Boy,  "  of  the 
Gordon  Highlanders." 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  "  looked  up"  his  regiment  at 
once,  and  found  that  Colonel  McDonald  was  really 
a  very  distinguished  person  indeed — quite  good 
blood,  in  fact — really  quite.  Whereupon  she  gra- 
ciously approved  of  Alister  as  Boy's  friend,  and 
Boy,  emboldened  by  this,  said, — 

"  Couldn't  I  go  to  school  where  Alister  is, 
mother?     I  do  want  to  go  to  school!" 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  asked  the  name  of  the  school, 
and  when  she  heard  it  pursed  her  lips  together 
dubiously.  It  was  a  famous  school  and  an  ex- 
pensive one.  It  boasted  of  some  of  the  finest 
teachers  in  England,  whose  services  were  not  to 
be  had  for  nothing. 

"  I'll  see  about  it,"  she  said  grandiloquently. 
"  I'm  not  sure  I  should  approve  of  that  school. 
But,  of  course,  you  must  go  to  school  somewhere, 
and  I'll  arrange  it  for  you  as  soon  as  I  can." 

Having  put  the  idea  into  her  head.  Boy  waited 
with  tolerable  equanimity.  He  would  write,  he 
thought,  to  Miss  Lettie  when  everything  was  set- 
tled. In  the  meantime  his  mother,  in  her  own 
peculiar  pig-headed  way,  set  to  work  reading  all 
the  advertisements  of  cheap  schools  in  all  the  pa- 
pers, and  hit  upon  one  at  last  that  particularly 
seemed  to  appeal  to  her, — one  which  provided 
knowledge,  with  physical  and  moral  training  for 
life  generally,  at  the  humble  cost  of  about  fifteen 
pounds — board  and  lodging  were  included — a  year. 

150 


BOY. 

That  would  do,  she  resolved.  An  exchange  of 
letters  between  herself  and  the  proprietor  of  this 
"  first-class  educational  establishment"  soon  set- 
tled the  matter,—"  for,"  said  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir, 
"there  is  no  occasion  to  consult  Jim.  He  is  too 
sodden  with  whiskey  to  know  what  he  is  about; 
he  will  have  to  pay  the  money,  and  I  shall  have  to 
get  it  out  of  him,  and — and  that's  all." 

And  one  morning  she  informed  Boy  of  his  ap- 
proaching destination. 

"  I  have  managed  a  school  for  you,  Boy,"  she 
said ;  "  I'm  getting  your  clothes  ready,  and  next 
week  you  are  going  to  France." 

"  France !"  cried  Boy,  and  his  little  heart  sank 
almost  into  his  little  boots. 

"Yes,  France!"  said  his  mother.  "There's  a 
charming  school  at  a  place  called  Noirville  in  Brit- 
tany, and  I  have  arranged  for  you  to  go  there. 
You'll  learn  to  speak  French,  which  is  always  a 
great  advantage  to  a  boy.  Why,  what  are  you 
crying  about?" 

Poor  Boy!  He  tried  hard  to  keep  back  his 
tears,  but  it  was  no  use,  and  the  more  he  fought 
against  them,  the  faster  they  fell. 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother !"  he  said,  at  last  giving 
way  to  his  sobs,  "  I  did  want  to  be  a  real  English 
boy! — a  real,  real  English  boy!" 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir's  little  eyes  almost  shot  out 
of  her  head  in  the  extremity  of  her  staring  as- 
tonishment. 

"  What  a  ridiculous  child  you  are !"    she  burst 
151 


BOY. 

out  at  last,  "  How  can  you  be  anything  else  than 
a  real  English  boy?  Isn't  your  father  English? 
Am  not  I — your  mother — English?  And  were 
you  not  born  in  England?  Good  gracious  me! 
I  never  heard  such  nonsense  in  my  life!  Silly 
cry-baby !  Do  you  think  going  to  school  in  France 
will  alter  your  birth  and  your  nature?" 

Boy  choked  back  his  sobs  and  controlled  his 
tears,  but  not  trusting  himself  to  speak,  he  went 
straight  out  of  his  mother's  presence,  and  ran  as 
hard  as  his  little  legs  could  carry  him  down  to  the 
sea-shore.  There  he  sat,  a  forlorn  little  figure, 
on  the  sand  close  to  the  fringe  of  the  sea,  and  tried 
to  think.  It  was  a  difficult  task,  for  he  was  too 
young  to  analyse  his  own  emotions.  His  hazy 
idea  that  he  could  not  possibly  be  **'  a  real  English 
boy"  if  he  went  to  school  in  France  was  purely 
instinctive, — he  knew  nothing  about  foreign  coun- 
tries or  foreign  customs  of  education.  But  he 
was  hopelessly,  bitterly  disappointed, — deplorably, 
cruelly  cast  down.  He  knew  it  would  be  no  use 
appealing  to  his  mother.  And  he  did  not  know 
where  his  father  was.  Even  if  he  had  known,  he 
could  have  done  nothing  with  that  estimable 
parent.  It  seemed  very  useless  to  try  and  do  one's 
best,  he  thought.  Since  he  had  come  back  from 
Scotland  he  had  been  so  thoroughly  determined 
to  follow  Miss  Letty's  precepts, — to  attempt  by 
small  degrees  the  work  of  becoming  "  a  good 
brave  man,"  that  he  had  avoided  all  the  dirty 
little  scavenger-boys  of  the  place  he  had  used  to 

152 


BOY. 

foregather  with,  and  he  had  not  even  been  to  see 
Ratthng  Jack.  He  had  remained  nearly  all  day 
with  his  mother,  doing  the  lessons  she  gave  him 
to  do,  and  obeying  her  in  every  trifling  particular, 
and  had  been  most  gently  docile  and  affectionate 
in  his  conduct.  The  silly  woman,  however,  had 
taken  all  his  loving  attention  as  a  proof  that  he 
had  found  Miss  Leslie  so  "  faddy,"  and  her  house 
in  Scotland  so  dull,  that  he  was  glad  and  grateful 
to  be  at  home  again  with  "  his  own  dear  mother," 
as  she  herself  put  it.  And  now — she  was  going 
to  send  him  away  to  France!  His  wistful  eyes 
scanned  the  ocean  and  the  far  blue  line  of  the  dis- 
tant horizon.  There  was  a  storm  coming  up  from 
the  north,  and  the  first  gusts  of  wind  ruffled  the 
waves  and  gave  them  white  crests,  over  which 
three  or  four  seagulls  flew  with  doleful  screams, 
and  Boy's  heart  grew  heavier  and  heavier.  Pres- 
ently he  got  up  from  the  sand,  dusting  his  little 
clothes   free  from  the  sparkling  grains. 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said,  hopelessly, — "  it  isn't  a 
bit  of  use!  I  shall  never  be  anything — neither  a 
soldier  nor  a  sailor  nor  anybody.  But  I'll  write 
to  Miss  Letty." 

He  had  begun  to  retrace  his  steps  homeward, 
when  he  saw  a  figure  coming  along  the  stretches 
of  sand, — a  figure  that  stooped  and  shuffled  and 
carried  a  basket  on  its  back.  Boy  recognised  it 
as  the  visible  form  and  composition  of  Rattling 
Jack  and  went  straight  up  to  it. 

"Hullo,  Jack!"    said  he,  with  a  little  sm.ile. 
153 


BOY. 

The  old  gentleman  turned  his  bent  head  round 
on  one  side. 

"Who  be  ye?"  he  demanded.  "My  back  is 
that  stiff  with  rheumatiz,  and  my  neck  is  that 
wincy,  that  I  can't  lift  myself  up  anyhow." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry !"  said  Boy,  in  his  sweet, 
little  childish  voice.  "  Couldn't  I  carry  your  bas- 
ket for  you?" 

Stiff  in  the  back  and  "  wincy"  in  the  neck  as  he 
declared  himself  to  be,  Rattling  Jack  did  manage 
to  raise  his  stooping  figure  a  little  at  this  question, 
and  to  stare  through  fuzzy  tangles  of  hair,  eye- 
brow, and  whisker  at  his  small  friend,  whom  he 
gradually  recognised. 

"  Oh,  it  be  ye,  be  it?"  he  grunted  then,  not  un- 
kindly. "  Ye  went  to  Scotland,  didn't  ye,  awhile 
sen?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Boy,  "  and — and — next  week  I'm 
going  away  again, — to  school." 

"  That's  right !"  said  Rattling  Jack,  approvingly, 
— "  that's  the  best  thing  for  yer !  There  be  noth- 
ing like  a  good  English  school  for  boys " 

"But  it  isn't  an  English  school,"  said  Boy; 
"  I'm  going  to  France " 

"  Fra — ance!"  roared  the  old  seaman.  "  What 
d'ye  know  of  France?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Boy,  dispiritedly.  "  I  shall  be 
all  alone  out  there,  and  I  don't  speak  a  word  of 
French!" 

Rattling  Jack  surveyed  him  for  a  few  minutes 
in  grim  silence.     The  situation  appeared  to  inter- 

154 


BOY. 

est  him,  for  he  unslung  his  basket  and  set  it  down 
on  the  shore.  Whatever  the  basket's  business,  it 
was  evident  it  could  wait.  Then,  partly  straight- 
ening himself  with  an  effort,  he  said  slowly, — 

"  Who  be  sendin'  ye  to  school  in  France?" 

"  My  mother,"  responded  Boy. 

"  Poor  little  devil,  may  God  help  yer !"  said  Rat- 
tling Jack,  with  hoarse  solemnity,  "  for  ye'll  come 
back  never  no  more!" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  shall  come  back  for  the  holidays,  I 
suppose,"  said  Boy,  practically. 

"  Stow  that !"  said  Jack,  with  a  sudden  sten- 
torian vigour  which  was  quite  alarming.  "  What's 
'olidays !  Yes,  ye'll  come  back  mebbe  for  'olidays, 
but  it  won't  be  you." 

"  Won't  be  me?"  echoed  Boy,  wonderingly.  "  It 
must  be  me !" 

"  It  can't  be !"  persisted  Jack.  "  France  ain't 
a  turnin'-out  establishment  for  Englishmen.  Never 
a  bit  of  it !  Ye'll  go  to  France  a  poor,  decent  little 
chap  enough  as  yer  seems  to  be,  but  ye'll  never 
come  back  that  way, — ye'll  come  back  a  little 
mincin',  lyin'  rascal,  parly-vooin'  like  a  hass,  an' 
hoppin'  like  a  frog.  That's  what  ye'll  be!  Ye'll 
be  afraid  of  cold  water,  and  skeered-like  at  the 
sight  of  yer  own  skin,  and  ye'll  never  look  any 
livin'  creetur  in  the  face  agin.  And  ye'll  be  a 
dirty,  mean,  creepy-crawly  little  Frenchy — that's 
what  ye'll  be!" 

"  No,  I  won't !"  cried  Boy,  quite  appalled  at  this 
vivid  picture  of  himself  in  futuro.     "  Don't  say 

155 


BOY. 

I  will!     I  know  you've  travelled  a  lot,  and  that 

you've  seen  France " 

"  Seen  France!" — and  Rattling  Jack  snorted  in- 
dignation at  the  air — "  rather!  And  seen  French- 
men, too!  And  licked  them  into  the  bottom  of 
their  own  shinin'  boots !  Seen  France !  Yes !  it's 
a  great  place  for  frogs — hoppin'  round,  and  all 
alive  oh! 

'  Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary, 
How  does  your  garden  grow  ?' 

Thank  you,  mam,  kindly,  but  frogs  'as  eaten  me 
out  of  'ouse  and  'ome  an'  garden,  too.  Hor — hor 
— hor!" 

And  Rattling  Jack  began  to  indulge  in  those 
deep,  uncouth  sounds  which  he  produced  as  laugh- 
ter. Always  deeply  impressed  by  his  own  wit, 
he  liked  to  appreciate  any  joke  he  thought  he  had 
perpetrated  to  its  full  extent  and  flavour,  and  Boy 
waited  patiently  till  his  "  hor-hor-hor"  decreased 
in  volume  and  died  away  in  a  snuffle. 

"  Yes,  Fm  sure  you're  quite  right  about  France," 
he  then  said,  timidly,  "  because  you  have  been 
there.  But,  you  see,  I  can't  help  it.  I  shall  have 
to  go  there  if  my  mother  sends  me." 

Rattling  Jack  laid  a  big  hand  on  Boy's  small 
shoulder. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you'll  hev  to  do  as  yer  mother 
bids.  I  don't  know  yer  mother,  and  don't  want 
to.  If  I  did,  mebbe  Fd  give  her  a  bit  o'  my  mind. 
What  I  thinks  is  this — that  the  ways  of  natur  are 
best,  and  in  the  ways  of  natur  mothers  don't  in- 

156 


BOY. 

terfere  when  they've  done  their  mussin'.  See!" 
And  he  stretched  out  an  arm  with  a  roughly  elo- 
quent gesture  towards  the  ocean  where  the  sea- 
gulls screamed  and  flew.  "  They  birds  has  to  take 
the  rough  and  tumble  of  the  storm  and  the  sea. 
Born  and  bred  in  a  hole  of  the  cliffs,  they've  got 
to  larn  to  fly,  and  larn  they  do,  and  when  they 
flys,  they  flys  their  own  way — they  takes  it  and 
they  keeps  it.  And  so  with  all  birds  and  animals 
'cept  man.  Man's  the  idiot  of  the  universe,  always 
a  worritin'  of  himself.  He  wants  his  chillun  to 
be  just  like  himself,  and  a  mussiful  Lord  makes 
'em  as  different  as  chalk  from  cheese.  For  which 
let's  be  joyful !  And  when  they  wants  to  go  their 
own  way,  man,  the  idiot,  pulls  'em  back  and  says, 
'  You  shan't !'  An'  then  it's  more  than  likely  old 
Nick  steps  in  an'  says,  '  You  shall !'  And  away 
they  go,  straight  to  the  devil !  When  I  was  a  boy 
I  took  my  own  way — and  wal, — here  I  am!" 

"And  do  you  like  yourself  now?"  asked  Boy, 
respectfully. 

"Like  myself?  Of  course  I  like  myself!  I 
ain't  got  no  one  else  to  like  me,  so  why  shouldn't 
I  like  myself?" 

"  /  like  you,"  said  Boy, — "  I  always  have  liked 
you.    I  think  you  so — so  clever !" 

Rattling  Jack  was  not  often  shaken  from  the 
cynical  attitude  he  chose  to  assume  towards  all 
mankind,  but  this  innocent  remark  certainly 
touched  him  in  a  weak  spot.  He  was  not  insensi- 
ble to  flattery,  and  the  evident  fact  that  Boy  did 

157 


BOY. 

not  intend  to  flatter,  but  spoke  with  the  simple 
conviction  of  his  own  heart,  moved  the  old  sea- 
farer to  a  sudden  stirring  of  more  fervent  feeling" 
than  was  customary  with  him. 

"  Ye've  a  good  deal  o'  sense  for  a  little  chap," 
he  observed,  condescendingly,  "  and  I  don't  mind 
sayin'  that  I've  rather  took  to  ye.  Now  look'y 
'ere!  If  ye  don't  want  to  go  to  school  in  France, 
why  don't  you  do  as  they  seagulls  do,  and  fly 
away  ?" 

"Fly  away!"  repeated  Boy.  "You  mean,  rurt 
away !" 

"  Fly  or  run,  it's  all  the  same,  bless  yer  'eart  !'* 
said  Jack.  "  Get  out  of  yer  little  hole  in  the  rock 
and  spread  yer  wings  to  the  sun  and  the  breeze. 
Hain't  yer  got  any  friends?" 

"  Yes,  I've  one  very  good  friend,"  said  Boy, 
thinking  of  Miss  Letty.  "  She's  a  very  kind  lady, 
and  I'm  going  to  write  to  her.  But,  you  see,  if  I 
ran  away  I  should  be  brought  back  again — I'm 
not  very  old — I'm  not  quite  ten  yet " 

"  Not  quite  ten,  ain't  yer?"  said  Jack,  suddenly 
becoming  conscious  of  the  extreme  youth  and  help- 
lessness of  his  small  friend.  "  That  ain't  much, 
for  sartin.  Wal,  look  'ere;  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll 
do  for  ye — I'll  give  ye  a  tiger's  tooth !" 

Boy  stared. 

"  Will  you?"  he  said.     "  What's  it  for?" 

"  A  tiger's  tooth,"  said  Jack,  solemnly,  "  takes 
the  owner  through  the  forests  o'  difficulty.  A 
tiger's  tooth  protects  him  agin  his  enemies.     Mark 

158 


BOY. 

that !  Take  it  with  ye  to  France.  A  tiger's  tooth 
bites  traitors.  A  tiger's  tooth!  Lord  love  ye! — 
a'most  anythin'  can  be  done  with  a  tiger's  tooth. 
Look  at  it." 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  and  pulled  out  a 
shining  white  object  of  pointed  ivory. 

"  That  come  from  Bengal,"  he  said;  "  an'  'e  as 
give  it  to  me  was  what  they  call  a  ma-geesan.  He 
could  swallow  sarpints  and  fire  quite  promiskus- 
like, — seemed  his  nat'ral  food.  An'  'e  sed  to  me, 
ses  'e,  ' 'Ere's  a  tiger's  tooth  for  ye;  keep  it  in 
mem'ry  of  the  world-famous  Oriental  conjurer, 
Garoo-Garee !'  And  then  'e  guv  a  screech  an'  was 
gone." 

Boy  listened  to  this  interesting  narrative  with 
awe.  "  What  a  wonderful  man !"  he  said.  "  And 
his  name  was  Garoo-Garee?" 

"  Just  that,"  answered  Jack.  "  Will  ye  have  the 
tooth?" 

"  Indeed  I  will !"  said  Boy,  gratefully,  taking 
the  mystic  talisman  out  of  Jack's  horny  palm. 
"  You're  awfully  good  to  me !  I'm  ever  so  much 
obliged !  And  if  I  have  to  go  to  France,  I  will 
come  and  see  you  directly  I  get  back." 

Rattling  Jack  shouldered  his  basket  again, 
slowly  and  with  difficulty. 

"  No,  ye  won't,"  he  said,  dismally, — "  no,  ye 
won't  think  no  more  o'  me  among  they  Frenchies. 
God  bless  my  'eart!  An'  not  yet  ten,  ye  ain't! 
Wal,  good-bye  to  ye.     I'll  not  be  seein'  ye  agin  in 


159 


BOY. 

this  mortal  world, — so  I'll  just  think  o'  ye  kindly 
as  a  little  chap  wot's  dead." 

Boy's  heart  sank,  and  his  young  blood  seemed 
to  grow  cold. 

"Oh,  don't  do  that,  Jack!"  he  cried,— "  don't 
do  that!" 

"  I  must,"  said  Jack,  with  dreary  gravity,  look- 
ing a  melancholy  figure  enough  as  he  stood  on  the 
wet  sand,  with  the  grey  storm-clouds  scudding 
overhead,  and  the  wind  tossing  his  scanty  white 
locks  of  hair,  "  for  when  a  child  is  a  child  he's 
one  thing,  and  when  he  ain't,  he's  another.  First, 
there's  a  baby;  then  there  ain't  no  baby,  but  d 
child,  and  the  baby's  gone.  Then  by  and  by  there 
ain't  no  child,  but  a  boy,  and  the  child's  gone. 
Then,  afore  ye  can  so  much  as  look  round,  the 
boy's  gone,  and  there's  a  man.  Argyfyin'  my 
way,  ye  see,  baby,  child,  boy  is  all  gone,  which  is 
to  say,  dead, — for  what's  bein'  dead  but  gone,  and 
what's  bein'  gone  but  dead? — and  only  the  man 
is  left,  which  is  generally  a  poor  piece  of  work. 
There's  wise  folk  writin'  in  the  newspapers  wot 
calls  it  ever-lotion,  but  wot  it  is  the  lotion's  good 
for,  God  only  knows !  Anyhow,  I've  seen  a  darned 
sight  many  more  decent  chillun  than  I  have  men. 
Which  it  proves  that  the  chillun  is  dead.  But  my 
talk  is  too  deep  for  ye,  I  kin  see  that.  Ye  poor, 
little,  skinny,  white-faced  chap,  ye  can't  be  expected 
to  understan'  feel  osophy." 

"  No,"  said  Boy,  humbly,  "  I'm  afraid  I  don't 
quite  understand.     But  I  hope  you'll  think  of  me 

i6o 


BOY. 

just  as  if  I  were  here.  You  see,  you  have  given 
me  the  tiger's  tooth,  and  I  shall  keep  it  always, 
and  I  shall  never  forget  you!" 

"  M'appen  the  tooth  will  do  somethin'  In  the 
way  of  nippin'  the  memory,"  said  Jack,  thought- 
fully,— "  mebbe  so.  Good-bye  t'yer.  There's  a 
cloud  just  a  goin'  to  burst  in  the  sky,  and  ye'll  be 
drenched  to  the  skin  afore  ye  knows  where  ye 
are,"  and  he  turned  up  his  quaint  old  physiognomy 
to  the  darkening  heavens,  from  which  already  big 
drops  of  rain  were  beginning  to  fall.  "  Run  'ome, 
little  'un!  Run  'ome!  That  mother  o'  yourn'U 
be  down  on  ye  if  ye  wets  yer  clothes.  Shake 
'ands?" — for  Boy  had  timidly  extended  his  small 
hand.  "  Sartinly!" — and  the  old  man  grasped  the 
tiny  child  fingers  within  his  own  rough,  dirty  ones, 
— "  for  it's  a  long  good-bye.  Sartin  sure  of  that 
I  am.  Don't  let  'em  make  a  frog  of  ye  out  there 
in  France,  if  ye  can  'elp  it.  Good-bye!  I'll  just 
think  o'  ye  as  if  ye  were  dead." 

The  rain  now  began  to  fall  in  heavy  earnest, 
and  Boy  could  not  stop  to  protest  further  against 
this  obstinate  final  statement  of  his  sea-faring 
friend.  He  put  the  tiger's  tooth  in  his  pocket, 
smiled,  lifted  his  cap,  and  ran,  a  little  light  figure 
flying  across  the  sand,  some  of  his  curls  escaping 
loose  and  gleaming  like  the  sunshine  that  was  now 
lacking  in  the  sky.  Rattling  Jack  stood  still  and 
watched  him  go,  heedless  of  the  rain  that  began 
to  drift  in  sweeping  gusts  round  and  round  him. 
The  sea  uprose  and  lashed  the  flat  shore  with 
II  i6i 


BQY. 

fringes  of  yellow  foam,  angrily  murmuring  and 
snarling  like  some  savage  beast  of  prey.  But 
Jack  heard  nothing,  or,  if  he  heard,  he  did  not 
heed.  Equally  he  saw  nothing  but  that  small  child 
figure  racing  through  the  rain  over  the  glistening 
sand,  till  at  the  corner  of  an  old  jetty,  where  the 
mists  of  the  land  and  sea  hung  low  like  a  curtain, 
it  turned  and  disappeared. 

"  There  ye  go,"  said  the  old  man,  talking  to 
himself — "  there  ye  go — away  for  ever.  An'  the 
rain  fallin',  and  the  mists  a  gatherin'.  There  ye 
go.  The  way  of  all  the  chillun — a  bit  of  sunshine, 
and  then  the  mist  and  the  rain.  There  ye  go — and 
good-bye  to  ye.  Ye  wor  a  nice  little  chap — quiet, 
yet  speerety-like — a  nice  little  chap  ye  wor, — an' 
I'll  think  o'  ye  kindly  as  if  the  good  God  had  took 
ye, — just  as  if  ye  wor  dead." 


162 


CHAPTER    VI  I. 

The  next  day  Boy  shut  himself  up  in  his  Own 
little  bedroom,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Miss  Leslie. 
He  was  a  long  time  about  it,  and  he  took  infinite 
pains  to  spell  carefully.  The  result  of  his  anxious 
thought  and  trouble  was  the  following  epistle: 

"  My  deer  frend  miss  Letty 

"  I  am  gowin  to  skool  nex  week  you  will  bee 
sory  to  heer  it  is  not  a  skool  in  England  like  Alister 
Macdonald  it  is  in  France  ware  I  have  never  bin  I 
am  sory  to  tell  you  I  do  not  like  to  go  thare. 
Mother  expecs  me  to  speek  French  but  I  am  sory 
to  tell  you  I  do  not  feel  I  shall  speek  very  quikly 
the  new  langwige  if  you  cood  do  enny  thing  to  safe 
me  from  the  skool  in  France  I  wood  be  glad  I  am 
afrade  Mother  will  send  me  before  you  can  cum 
my  close  are  been  packt  and  I  am  to  bee  put  on 
boord  a  ship  to  the  Captain  who  is  to  give  me  to 
the  skool  I  am  very  sory  and  cannot  help  cry  in  if 
I  cood  run  away  wood  you  meet  me  enny  ware  I 
wood  like  to  see  you  I  think  of  deer  Skotland  and 
Alister  and  Majer  Desmond,  pleese  give  my  luv 
and  say  I  have  to  go  to  skool  in  France  Alister 
will  be  very  sory  as  he  alwas  sade  he  wood  fite  the 
french  the  plase  is  called  Noirville  (Boy  wrote  this 
very  roundly  and  carefully)  in  Brittany  and  the 
master  takes  boys  who  are  cheep  mother  says  I 

163 


BOY. 

am  afrade  I  shal  not  see  you  deer  miss  Letty  I  am 
your  lovin  frend 

"  Boy/' 

This  letter  finished,  and  put  in  an  envelope,  Boy 
carefully  addressed  it  in  a  very  big,  round  hand  to 
Miss  Leslie,  at  her  house  in  Hans  Place,  and  then 
went  down  to  his  mother  to  ask  for  a  penny  stamp. 

"Whom  have  you  been  writing  to?"  she  de- 
manded, with  a  touch  of  suspicion. 

For  one  instant  Boy  was  tempted  to  answer, — 

"To  Alister  McDonald,"  but  he  resisted  the 
temptation  bravely.  He  had  promised  his  dear 
Miss  Letty  never  to  tell  a  lie  again  after  the  fatal 
affair  with  the  major's  gun.  So  he  answered 
frankly, — 

"  To  Miss  Letty." 

His  mother  dived  into  the  depths  of  a  capacious 
pocket,  and  opening  a  very  bulgy  purse,  produced 
the  required  stamp. 

"  There  you  are,"  she  said,  graciously,  "  I  hope 
you  have  written  her  a  nice  letter." 

"  Oh,  yes,  mother !" 

"  Well,  leave  it  outside  on  the  hall  table.  I  have 
some  letters  to  write  too,  and  they  can  all  go  to- 
gether." 

Boy  obeyed.  He  would  have  liked  to  go  and 
post  his  letter  himself,  but  his  conscience  told  him 
that  were  he  to  ask  to  do  so  it  would  look  like 
doubting  his  mother's  integrity. 

"  It  will  be  all  right !"  he  said  to  himself,  though 
164 


BOY. 

there  was  just  a  little  sinking  at  his  heart  as  he 
placed  it  where  he  had  been  told ;  "  mother 
wouldn't  touch  it." 

He  hung  about  for  a  while,  looking  at  the  pre- 
cious epistle,  which  to  him  involved  so  much,  till, 
hearing  his  little  shuffling  feet  in  the  hall,  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir  grew  impatient. 

"Boy!"  she  called. 

"Yes,  mother." 

"  Come  here.  I  want  you  to  wind  off  this 
worsted  for  me." 

Boy  went  to  her,  and  meekly  accepted  the  thick 
hank  of  ugly  grey  wool  she  offered  him,  and 
stretching  it  out,  as  was  his  custom  when  he  had 
to  do  this  kind  of  duty,  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  he 
set  to  work  patiently  winding  it  off  into  a  ball. 
Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  meanwhile  wrote  two  letters, 
and  sealed  them  in  their  respective  envelopes.  Then 
she  took  them  out  into  the  hall,  and  Boy  heard  her 
call  the  servant  to  take  all  the  letters  to  the  post. 

"Is  mine  gone  too?"  he  asked,  as  she  re-en- 
tered. 

"  Of  course !  Do  you  suppose  your  mother  could 
be  so  careless  as  to  forget  it?" 

Boy  said  nothing,  but  went  on  winding  the  grey 
worsted  till  he  had  made  a  neat,  soft,  big  round 
of  it;  then  he  handed  it  to  his  mother,  and  ven- 
tured to  kiss  her  cheek. 

"My  own  Boy!"  she  said,  gushingly.  "You 
do  love  me,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother.     Only — only " 

165 


BOY. 

"Only  what?" 

"  I  wish  you  were  sending  me  to  a  school  in 
England.     I  don't  like  going  to  France!" 

"  That's  because  you  don't  know  what  is  for 
your  good,  dear!"  said  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir,  with 
a  magnificent  air.  "  Trust  to  mother !  Mother 
always  does  everything  for  the  best !" 

Boy  made  no  answer,  but  presently  went  away 
to  his  room,  and  took  down  a  book  in  large  print, 
which  Major  Desmond  had  given  him  as  a  parting 
gift,  entitled  "  Our  Country's  Heroes,"  in  which 
there  were  some  very  thrilling  pictures  of  young 
men,  almost  boys,  fighting,  escaping  from  prison, 
struggling  with  wild  beasts,  climbing  Alpine 
heights,  swimming  tempestuous  seas,  and  gen- 
erally distinguishing  themselves,  and  as  he  turned 
the  pages,  he  wondered  wistfully  whether  he  would 
ever  be  like  any  one  of  them.  He  feared  not ;  there 
was  no  encouragement  held  out  to  him  to  be  a 
country's  hero. 

"  Alister  McDonald  will  be  doing  great  things 
someday,  I'm  sure,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  He's 
full  of  most  wonderful  ideas  about  killing  all  the 
country's  enemies." 

And  while  he  thus  pored  over  his  book,  and 
thought,  his  mother  opened  his  poor,  little  letter 
to  Miss  Leslie  ("  for  it  is  a  mother's  duty!"  she 
said  to  herself,  to  excuse  her  dishonourable  act  to 
a  trusting  child)  and  read  every  word  two  or  three 
times  over.  She  had,  of  course,  never  intended  it 
to  be  posted,  and  when  she  had  gone  into  the  hall 

i66 


BOY. 

to  apparently  give  the  servant  all  the  letters  for  the 
post,  she  had  kept  it  back  and  quietly  slipped  it  into 
her  pocket.  As  she  now  perused  it,  her  whole  large 
figure  swelled  with  the  "  noble  matron's"  indigna- 
tion. 

"  What  a  wicked  old  thing  that  Leslie  woman 
must  be !"  she  exclaimed.  "  A  perfect  mischief- 
maker!  She  has  poisoned  my  son's  mind!  He 
would  evidently  run  away  to  her  if  he  could !  How 
fortunate  it  is  that  I  have  intercepted  this  letter! 
Not  that  it  matters  much,  because,  of  course,  I 
should  have  soon  put  a  stop  to  the  old  maid's  non- 
sense, and  Boy's  too.  Stupid  child!  But  it  isn't 
his  fault,  poor  darling,  it's  the  fault  of  that  con- 
ceited old  thing  who  has  put  all  these  foolish  no- 
tions into  his  head.  Really,  a  mother  has  to  be 
always  on  her  guard!" 

With  which  sagacious  observation,  she  posted 
Boy's  letter  to  his  "  deer  frend"  into  the  fire. 
Then,  satisfied  that  she  "  had  done  a  mother's 
duty,"  she  called  Boy,  and  asked  him  if  he  would 
like  a  game  of  draughts  with  her.  He  nodded  a 
glad  assent,  and  as  he  brought  out  the  board  and 
set  the  pieces,  he  looked  so  bright  and  animated 
that  his  mother  "  swelled"  towards  him  as  it  were, 
and  shed  one  of  her  slowest,  fattest  smiles  upon 
him. 

"  I  shall  be  very  lonely  without  you.  Boy!"  she 
said,  plaintively.  "  No  nice  little  son  to  play 
draughts   with   me!     But  it's   for  your   good,   I 


167 


BOY. 

know ;   and  a  mother  must  always  sacrifice  herself 
for  her  children !" 

She  sighed  in  bland  self-admiration;  but  Boy, 
not  being  able  to  argue  on  the  duties  of  mothers, 
had  already  made  his  first  move  on  the  draught- 
board, so  she  had  to  resign  herself  with  as  good  a 
grace  as  she  could  to  the  game,  which  she  had 
only  proposed  by  way  of  a  ruse  to  take  Boy's  mind 
off  any  further  possibility  of  its  dwelling  on  the 
subject  of  his  letter  to  Miss  Leslie. 

But  Boy  thought  of  it  all  the  same,  though  he 
said  nothing.  Day  after  day  he  waited  anxiously 
for  a  reply;  and  when  none  came,  his  little  face 
grew  paler,  and  his  brows  contracted  the  habit  of 
frowning.  One  morning  when  his  mother  was 
just  opening  some  letters  of  her  own  which  had 
arrived  by  the  first  delivery,  she  looked  up  and 
said,  smilingly, — 

"  Have  you  heard  from  Miss  Letty  yet.  Boy?" 
Boy    looked    at    her    with    a    straight,    fearless 
glance,  which,  had  she  been  a  little  less  mean  and 
treacherous  and  poor  of  soul  than  she  was,  might 
have  made  her  wince. 
"  No,  mother." 

"  What  a  shame !"  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  set- 
tled herself  more  comfortably  in  her  chair,  still 
smiling.  "  But  you  see,  she's  getting  rather  an 
old  lady  now,  and  she  can  hardly  be  expected  to 
write  to  little  boys !" 

"  She  promised  me  she  would  always  answer  me 
if  I  wrote  to  her,"  said  Boy,  his  small  mouth  set 

i68 


BOY. 

and  stern,  and  his  eyes  looking  quite  tired  and 
pained.     "  She  promised!" 

"And  you  believed  her?"  his  mother  queried, 
carelessly.  "  Poor  dear  child !  Yes,  of  course ! 
So  nice  of  you !  But  you  will  have  to  learn,  dear, 
as  you  grow  older,  that  people  don't  always  keep 
their  promises." 

"  I  can't  think  Miss  Letty  would  ever  break 
hers,"  said  Boy,  slowly. 

His  mother  laughed  unkindly. 

"  What  a  touching  faith  you  have  in  her,"  she 
said,  and  laughed  again.  "  Such  a  little  boy!  and 
quite  in  love  with  such  an  old  lady !  Oh,  go  along, 
Boy !  Don't  be  silly !  You  really  are  too  absurd ! 
Miss  Letty  has  got  quite  enough  to  do  with  count- 
ing up  her  money  and  looking  after  the  interest  of 
it,  without  bothering  to  write  to  you!" 

"Is  she  very  rich?"    asked  Boy,  suddenly. 

"  Rich?  I  should  think  she  is  indeed.  Do  you 
know" — and  she  smiled  blandly — "  she  wanted  to 
give  you  all  the  money  she  has  got !" 

"  Me!"   exclaimed  Boy,  and  stared,  breathlessly. 

"  Yes,  you !  But  then  you  would  have  had  to 
go  away  from  me,  and  be  like  her  son  instead  of 
mine!  That  would  have  been  quite  dreadful !  And, 
of  course,  I  could  not  have  allowed  such  a  thing." 

Boy  said  not  a  word.  He  grew  a  little  paler  still, 
but  was  quite  silent.  "And  then,"  went  on  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir,  graciously,  "  you  would  have  had 
all  her  thousands  of  pounds  when  she  was  dead." 


169 


BOY. 

This  word  broke  up  Boy's  unnatural  com- 
posure. 

"  Dead !  When  she  was  dead !  Oh,  I  don't 
want  Miss  Letty  to  die !"  he  said,  the  colour  rush- 
ing up  hotly  to  his  brows.  "  No !  no !  I  don't 
want  any  money — I  wouldn't  have  it — not  if  Miss 
Letty  had  to  die  first!  I  would  rather  die  my- 
self!" 

And  unable  to  control  his  rising  emotion,  he 
suddenly  burst  into  tears,  and  ran  out  of  the 
room. 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  gazed  after  him  helplessly. 
Then  rising,  she  paced  the  room  slowly  to  and 
fro  with  elephantine  tread,  and  sniffed  the  air  por- 
tentously. 

"  He's  quite  unmanageable !  I'm  thankful — yes, 
thankful — that  I  have  decided  on  that  school  in 
Brittany,  and  the  sooner  he  goes  the  better!" 

Meanwhile  Boy  was  crying  quietly,  and  by  him- 
self, in  his  room. 

''Oh,  Miss  Letty!"  he  sobbed;  "dear  Miss 
Letty!  You  wanted  me  to  be  yo7ir  Boy!  Oh,  I 
wish  I  was !  I  wish  I  was !  Not  for  all  the 
money — I  don't  want  any — but  I  want  you!  I 
want  you.  Miss  Letty!  Oh,  I  do  want  you  so 
much!     I  do  want  you!" 

Alas !  the  Fates,  so  often  invincibly  obstinate 
in  their  particular  way  of  weaving  the  web  of  a 
life  and  sometimes  tangling  the  threads  as  they 
go,  were  apparently  set  dead  against  any  change 
for  the  better  occurring  in  this  child's  destiny; 

170 


BOY. 

and  no  "  occult"  forces  of  sound  or  other  form 
of  spirit  communication  were  vouchsafed  to  Miss 
Letty  concerning  the  troubles  and  difficulties  of 
her  little  friend.  And  the  day  came,  when  Boy,  to 
quote  the  ancient  ballad  of  Lord  Bateman, 

"Shipped  himself  all  aboard  of  a  ship, 
Some  foreign  countries  for  to  see. ' ' 

A  solitary  little  figure  he  stood  on  the  deck 
where  his  mother  had  left  him  after  "  seeing  him 
off,"  somewhat  doubtfully  received  and  considered 
by  the  captain  of  the  said  ship  as  a  sort  of  package, 
labelled,  and  needing  speedy  transit;  and  as  he 
saw  the  white  cliffs  of  England  recede,  his  heart 
was  heavy  as  lead,  and  his  soul  full  of  bitterness. 
Not  for  his  mother  or  father  were  his  farewells, 
but  for  Miss  Letty.  To  her  he  sent  his  parting 
thoughts ;  to  her  he  silently  breathed  the  last  love, 
the  last  tenderness  of  his  innocent  childhood.  For 
his  trust  in  her  remained  unbroken.  She  would 
have  answered  his  letter,  he  knew,  if  she  had  re- 
ceived it.  He  felt  instinctively  certain  that  it  had 
never  been  posted, — and  when  once  this  idea  took 
root  in  his  young  mind,  it  bore  its  natural  fruit, 
a  deep  distrust,  which  was  almost  scorn,  of  the 
mother  who  could  stoop  so  low  as  to  deliberately 
deceive  him.  The  incident  made  such  a  strong 
impression  upon  him,  that  it  is  scarcely  an  exag- 
geration to  say  that  it  "  had  aged  him."  He  had 
never  been  able  to  respect  his  father, — and  now 

171 


BOY. 

he  was  moved  to  despise  his  mother.  Hence  his 
good-byes  to  her  were  cold  and  Hfeless, — the  kiss 
he  gave  her  was  a  mere  touch,  his  httle  hand  lay 
limply  in  hers, —  while  she,  in  her  sublime  self- 
conceit,  thought  that  this  numb  and  frozen  atti- 
tude of  the  child  was  the  result  of  his  grief  at  part- 
ing from  her. 

"  See  that  he  has  a  good  dinner,  please,"  she 
said  to  the  captain,  in  whose  care  she  had  placed 
him,  heaving  her  large  bosom  expansively  as  she 
spoke.  "  Poor,  dear,  little  fellow !  He's  so  ter- 
ribly cut  up  at  parting  from  me.  We  have  been 
such  friends — such  close  companions !  You  will 
look  after  him,  won't  you?" 

The  captain  grunted  a  brief  assent,  thinking 
what  a  remarkably  stout  woman  she  was;  and 
Boy  smiled, — such  a  pale,  cold  little  smile, — the 
first  touch  of  the  sarcasm  that  was  destined  to  make 
his  pretty  mouth  into  such  a  hard  line  in  a  few 
more  years.  And  the  ship  plunged  away  from  the 
English  shore  through  the  grey-green,  foam-crested 
billows,  and  Boy  leaned  over  the  deck-rail,  and 
watched  the  churning  water  under  the  paddle- 
wheels,  and  the  sea-birds  swooping  down  in  search 
of  stray  scraps  of  food  thrown  out  from  the  ship's 
kitchen;  and  he  remembered  what  Rattling  Jack 
had  said  about  them, — "  Born  and  bred  in  a  hole 
of  the  cliffs,  they've  got  to  larn  to  fly, — and  larn 
they  do, — and  when  they  flys,  they  flys  their  own 
way — they  takes  it  an'  they  keeps  it." 

And  moved  by  an  odd  sense  of  the  injurious 
172 


BOY. 

treatment  of  an  untoward  Fate,  he  took  out  from 
his  pocket  the  precious  "  tiger's  tooth"  the  old 
sailor  had  given  him  as  a  talisman,  and  dropped 
it  in  the  waves. 

"  For  it's  evidently  not  a  bit  of  use,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  Jack  said  it  would  take  me  through  diffi- 
culties, but  it  hasn't.  It  has  been  no  help  to  me 
at  all.  It's  a  humbug,  like — like  most  things.  And 
as  for  the  sea-gulls,  I'm  sure  the  world  is  a  better 
place  for  birds  than  boys.  I  wish  I'd  never  been 
a  boy." 

But  youthful  wishes  like  youthful  hopes  are  often 
vain,  and  doomed  to  annihilation  through  the  cross 
currents  of  opposing  influences,  and  heedless  of 
Boy's  aching  little  heart,  so  full  of  crushed  as- 
pirations and  disappointment,  the  ship  went  on 
and  bore  him  relentlessly  away  from  everything 
in  which  he  had  the  faintest  interest.  And  while 
he  was  on  his  journey  to  France,  his  estimable 
"  Muzzy"  sat  down  at  home,  and  in  high  satisfac- 
tion and  importance,  wrote  two  letters.  One  was 
to  the  Master  of  the  "  skool"  at  Noirville,  as  fol- 
lows : 

"  Dear  Sir, — 

"  My  son  has  left  England  to-day,  so  that  he  will 
arrive  in  time  to  meet  your  representative  at  St. 
Malo,  where  I  understand  you  will  send  to  receive 
him.  I  have  no  further  instructions  respecting  his 
education  to  give  you,  except  to  ask  you  to  kindly 
supervise  his  letters.    He  has  a  young  friend  named 

1/3 


BOY. 

Alister  McDonald,  son  of  Colonel  McDonald,  who 
is  of  very  good  family,  to  whom  he  may  wish  to 
write,  and  I  have  no  objection  whatever  to  his 
doing  so.  But  there  is  an  elderly  person  named 
Miss  Leslie,  who  has  an  extremely  unfortunate 
influence  upon  his  mind,  and  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
you  if  you  will  intercept  any  letters  he  may  at- 
tempt to  write  to  her  and  forward  them  to  me. 
''Mes  meilleiirs  compliments! 

"Amelia  D'Arcy-Muir." 

The  other  was  to  Miss  Leslie. 

"  My  dear  Letitia^ — 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  dear 
Boy  has  gone  to  school.  I  have  sent  him  to  a  very 
good  establishment  in  Noirville,  Brittany,  where 
he  will  pick  up  French  very  quickly, — and  lan- 
guages are  so  necessary  to  a  boy  nowadays.  He 
left  his  love  for  you,  and  told  me  to  say  good-bye 
to  you  for  him.  I  hope  you  are  quite  well,  and  that 
this  rather  damp  weather  is  not  affecting  your 
spirits.  I  am,  of  course,  rather  lonely  without  my 
darling  son,  but  to  be  a  good  mother  one  must 
always  suffer  something. 

"  Sincerely  yours, 

"Amelia  D'Arcy-Muir." 

It  was  with  a  curious  sense  of  self-congratula- 
tion that  she  posted  these  two  letters,  and  thought 
of  the  result  they  would  effect.  The  one  to  the 
French  school-master  would  subject  Boy  to  a  sort 

174 


BOY. 

of  espionage,  which  would,  she  decided,  be  "  good 
for  him," — it  was  part  of  "  a  mother's  duty"  to 
make  a  child  feel  that  he  was  watched  and  sus- 
pected and  mistrusted,  and  that  every  innocent 
letter  he  wrote  was  under  "  surveillance"  as  if  he 
were  a  prisoner  of  war,  and  the  one  to  Miss  Letty 
would  cause  that  good  and  gentle  creature  such 
grief  and  consternation  as  made  the  worthy  Amelia 
D'Arcy-Muir  wriggle  with  pleasure  to  contemplate. 
She  was  one  of  those  very  common  types  of  women 
who  delight  in  making  other  women  unhappy,  and 
who  approve  of  themselves  for  doing  an  unkindness 
as  though  it  were  a  virtue.  There  was  nothing 
she  liked  better  than  to  meet  some  sour  old  bel- 
dame-gossip and  talk  with  a  sort  of  condescending 
pity  of  some  beautiful  or  well-known  person  com- 
pletely out  of  her  sphere,  as  if  the  said  person  were 
an  ancient  hooded  crow.  To  pick  a  reputation  to 
pieces  was  one  of  her  delights,  to  make  mischief 
in  households,  another;  and  to  create  confusion 
and  discord  where,  till  her  arrival,  all  had  been 
peace,  was  an  ecstasy  whose  deliciousness  to  her 
soul  almost  approached  surfeit.  She  always  said 
her  disagreeable  things  in  the  softest  accents,  as 
though  she  were  imparting  a  valuable  secret;  and 
when  an  inextricably  hopeless  muddle  of  affairs 
among  perfectly  harmless  people  had  come  about 
through  her  interference,  she  put  on  a  grand  air 
of  protesting  innocence,  and  looked  "  like  Niobe 
all  tears."  But  in  secret  she  hugged  herself  with 
joy  to  think  what  trouble  she  had  managed  to 

175 


BOY. 

work  up  out  of  nothing, — hence  her  mood  was  one 
of  the  smoothest,  most  suave  satisfaction,  as  she 
pictured  Miss  Letty's  face  of  woe  when  she  heard 
that  Boy  had  gone  away  out  of  England !  She 
ordered  a  dozen  native  oysters,  and  had  a  pint  of 
champagne  for  supper,  by  way  of  outward  ex- 
pression for  her  inward  comfort,  and  enjoyed  these 
luxuries  doubly  because  of  the  delighted  conscious- 
ness she  had  that  Miss  Letty  was  unhappy. 

And  she  was  right  enough.  Poor  Miss  Leslie 
was  indeed  unhappy.  When  she  received  Mrs. 
D'Arcy-Muir's  letter,  her  astonishment  and  regret 
knew  no  bounds. 

"  Boy  gone  to  school  in  France!"  she  exclaimed. 
"In  France!" 

And  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  She  read  the 
news  again  and  yet  again. 

"  Oh,  poor  Boy !"  she  murmured.  "  Why  didn't 
you  write  to  me?  And  yet — if  his  mother  was 
obstinately  resolved  upon  such  a  scheme  I  could 
have  done  nothing.    But — to  send  him  to  France !" 

She  thought  over  it  and  worried  about  it  all 
the  morning,  and  finally  sent  a  brief  telegram  to 
Major  Desmond  at  his  club,  asking  him  to  call 
and  see  her  that  afternoon  about  tea-time  if  he  had 
nothing  more  important  to  do.  And  the  major, 
thinking  Letty  must  be  ill  or  she  never  would  have 
wired  for  him,  took  a  hansom  straight  away,  and 
arrived  to  luncheon  instead  of  to  tea. 

"  Oh,  Dick !"  said  Miss  Letty  at  once,  as  she 
gave  him  her  hand  in  greeting,  "  I  have  such  bad 

176 


BOY. 

news  about  Boy!  They  have  sent  him  away  to 
school  in  France !" 

The  major  stared. 

"France!"  he  echoed,  blankly. 

"  Yes,  France !  To  a  place  called  Noirville,  in 
Brittany.  Poor  child!  Here  is  his  mother's  let- 
ter." And  she  gave  him  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir's 
communication. 

He  read  it  with  visible  impatience,  then  he 
threw  it  down  upon  the  table  angrily. 

"That  woman  is  a  fiend,  Letty!"  he  said.  "A 
devil  encased  in  fat !  That's  what  she  is !  If  she 
had  been  thin,  she  would  have  been  a  murderess — 
as  it  is,  she's  a  muddler!  A  criminal  muddler!" 
He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  wrathfully, 
then  stopped  in  front  of  Miss  Leslie,  whose  gentle 
face  was  pale,  and  her  eyes  were  suspiciously 
moist. 

"  Now,  Letty,  listen  to  me.  Be  a  man — I  mean, 
be  a  brave  woman,  and  look  this  thing  in  the  face. 
You  must  say  good-bye  to  Boy  for  ever!" 

"  Say  good-bye  to  Boy  for  ever !"  repeated  Miss 
Leslie,  mechanically ;    "  must  I  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  must,"  said  the  major,  with  an  at- 
tempt at  sternness.  "Don't  you  see?  The  child 
has  gone — and  he'll  never  come  back.  A  boy  will 
come  back,  but  not  the  boy  you  know.  The  boy 
you  know  is  practically  dead.  Try  to  realize  that, 
Letty.  It's  very  hard,  I  know,  but  it's  a  fact.  The 
poor  little  chap  had  enough  against  him  in  his 
home  surroundings,  God  knows !  but  a  cheap 
12  177 


BOY. 

foreign  school  is  the  last  straw  on  the  camel's  back. 
Whatever  is  good  in  his  nature  will  go  to  waste, 
— whatever  is  bad  will  grow  and  flourish !" 

Miss  Letty  said  nothing.  She  sat  down  and 
clasped  her  hands  together  to  control  their  nervous 
trembling. 

"  An  English  school,"  went  on  Desmond, 
"  might  have  been  the  saving  of  Boy.  He  would 
have  been  taught  there  that  death  is  preferable  to 
dishonour.  But  at  a  foreign  school  he'll  learn 
that  to  tell  lies  prettily,  and  to  cheat  with  elegance, 
are  cardinal  points  in  a  gentleman's  conduct.  And 
there  are  other  things  besides, — no,  Letty!  no, — 
it's  no  good  your  fretting  yourself.  Say  good-bye 
to  Boy — and  say  it  for  ever!" 

He  came  and  bent  over  her,  and  took  one  of  the 
delicate  trembling  hands  in  his  own. 

"  You  have  said  good-bye  to  so  many  hopes  and 
joys,  Letty,"  he  said,  with  deep  tenderness  in  his 
kind  voice,  "  and  said  it  so  bravely  and  unre- 
piningly,  that  you  must  not  lose  courage  now.  It's 
just  one  more  disappointment,  that's  all.  Think 
of  Boy  as  a  child — the  coaxing  little  rascal  who 
used  to  call  you  '  Kiss-Letty.'  "  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment, then  went  on, — "  and  you  will  get  accus- 
tomed after  a  bit  to  believe  he  has  gone  to  heaven. 
You  know  you'll  never  see  that  winsome  little 
child  again.  There  was  hardly  anything  of  him 
left  in  the  boy  who  came  to  visit  you  in  Scotland. 
But  you  had  the  last  of  his  childhood  there,  Letty, 
■ — be  satisfied.     Say  good-bye." 

1/8 


BOY. 

Miss  Letty  looked  up  at  the  honest,  sympathising 
face  of  her  staunch  old  friend,  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  No,  Dick,  I  don't  think  I'll  do  that,"  she  said, 
gently, — "  I  don't  think  I  can.  You  see,  I  may, 
perhaps,  be  able  to  help  Boy  in  some  way  later 
on " 

"  There's  no  doubt  you  will  if  you're  inclined 
to,  and  that  he'll  need  help,"  said  the  major,  some- 
what grimly,  "  but  what  I  mean,  Letty,  is  that  you 
must  put  away  all  your  fancies  about  him.  Don't 
idealise  him  any  more.  Don't  think  that  he  will 
be  an  exceptional  sort  of  fellow,  or  turn  out  bril- 
liantly as  a  noble  example  to  the  world  in  general, 
— because  he  won't.  There's  no  hope  in  that  quar- 
ter. And, — if  you  take  my  advice,  you'll  stop 
thinking  about  him  for  the  present,  and  make  up 
your  mind  to  join  me  and  a  few  friends  who  are 
going  out  to  the  States.  Come  to  America,  Letty, 
— come  along.  And  I'll  try  and  find  another  Boy 
for  you." 

Miss  Leslie  shook  her  head. 

"  That's  impossible,"  she  said,  sorrowfully, — 
"  I'm  very  conservative  in  my  affections." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  the  major,  dolefully.  "  By 
Jove!     I  know  that." 

He  was  silent,  looking  at  her  wistfully,  and 
tugging  at  his  white  moustache. 

"Letty,  I  say!"  he  broke  out,  presently,  "I'm 
getting  an  old  man,  you  know, — I  shall  soon  be 
turning  up  my  toes  to  the  daisies, — will  you  not 
do  me  a  kindness?" 

179 


BOY. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  will,  if  I  can,  Dick,"  she 
answered,  readily,  "what  is  it?" 

"  Come  to  America !  There's  a  little  orphan 
niece  of  mine, — Violet  Morrison — only  child  of 
my  old  pal  Jack  Morrison  of  the  Guards — he  mar- 
ried my  youngest  sister — both  of  'em  dead — and 
only  this  little  girl  left.  She's  just  twelve,  and  I 
want  her  to  finish  her  education  in  America,  where 
they  honour  bright  women  instead  of  despising 
them.  But  I  don't  want  to  leave  you  behind. 
Come  and  play  auntie  to  her,  will  you?" 

"  Do  you  really  want  me?"  Miss  Leslie  asked, 
anxiously.     "  Should  I  be  useful  ?" 

"  Useful  ?  You  would  be  worth  more  than  your 
weight  in  gold — as  you  always  are.  Come  and 
chaperone  Violet, — she  hasn't  got  a  soul  in  the 
world  except  me  to  care  a  button  for  her.  Fitz 
has  an  idea  of  coming  out  too.  You'll  do  no  good 
brooding  here  by  yourself  in  London,  and  wonder- 
ing how  Boy  is  getting  on  in  France.  You  had 
much  better  come  and  be  happy  in  giving  happi- 
ness to  others." 

"  Do  you  think  Boy  might  write  to  me?"  she 
asked,  hesitatingly. 

"  He  might, — but  it's  more  than  possible  his  let- 
ter would  never  reach  you.  And  if  you  wrote 
to  him,  it's  ten  to  one  whether  your  letter  would 
ever  reach  him.  They  spy  on  boys  in  foreign 
schools,  and  report  everything  to  their  parents. 
Anyhow,  if  he  did  write  to  you  here  at  this 
address,   the  letter   would  be   forwarded.     Don't 

1 80 


BOY. 

hesitate,  Letty.  Come  to  America  and  help  me 
take  care  of  Violet !    Say  yes." 

"When  do  you  start?" 

**  In  a  week." 

Miss  Letty  thought  a  moment. 

"  Very  well,  Dick.  I  certainly  have  no  ties  to 
keep  me  in  England.  I  know  you  mean  it  kindly. 
I'll  come  and  look  after  your  niece.  It  will  give 
me  something  to  do." 

"  Of  course  it  will,"  said  the  major,  delighted, 
— "  Letty,  you're  a  brick!" 

She  laughed  a  little,  but  her  eyes  were  sad. 

"  Dick,"  she  said. 

"  Letty." 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  forget  Boy;    I  can't!" 

The  major  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed 
it. 

"  All  right,  I  won't.  But  I  didn't  ask  you  to 
forget  the  child.  No.  He  was  a  charming  child. 
But — he's  gone." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Letty,  with  a  sigh,  "  he's 
gone." 

And  she  did  not  answer  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir's 
letter,  nor  did  she  write  to  Boy. 

The  following  week  she  started  for  New  York 
with  the  major  and  his  niece,  a  pretty,  bright  little 
girl,  who  was  completely  fascinated  by  Miss  Let- 
ty's  charm  and  gentleness,  and  who  obeyed  her 
implicitly  with  devotion  and  tenderness  at  once; 
and  the  only  intimation  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  re- 
ceived of  her  departure  was  through  a  letter  to  her 

i8i 


BOY. 

husband  from  Major  Desmond,  which,  of  course, 
she  opened.     It  ran  as  follows : 

"  Dear  D'Arcy, — 

"  I'm  off  to  America  with  a  party  of  two  or 
three  friends,  including  Miss  Leslie,  who  is  kindly 
looking  after  my  young  niece,  Violet  Morrison, 
whom  I  am  going  to  place  at  a  finishing  school  irt 
New  Jersey.  I  daresay  you  remember  Jack  Mor- 
rison of  the  Guards, — this  is  his  only  child, — and 
I  prefer  an  American  education  for  girls  to  an 
English  one.  I  hear  your  little  chap  has  been  sent 
to  school  in  France, — it's  a  d — d  shame  to  try  and 
turn  an  upright-standing  Briton  into  a  French 
frog.  Better  by  far  have  sent  him  to  one  of  the 
first-class  educational  establishments  in  Canada. 
However,  I  suppose  your  wife  has  different  ideas 
to  anyone  else  respecting  the  education  of  boys. 
Take  my  advice  and  don't  drink  yourself  into  the 
lower  regions;  look  after  your  own  affairs,  and 
attend  to  the  education  of  the  little  chap  whose 
appearance  and  conduct  in  this  world  you  are 
answerable  for.  If  he  ever  goes  to  the  bad,  it 
won't  be  half  as  much  his  fault  as  yours.  I  always 
speak  my  mind,  as  you  know, — and  I'm  doing  it 
now. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  Dick  Desmond." 

Mrs.  D.'Arcy-Muir  bridled  with  offence  as  she- 
read  these  lines,  but  she  put  tliem  calmly  into  her 

182 


BOY. 

usual  posting-place  for  other  people's  letters — the 
fire,  and  for  once  was  exceedingly  annoyed.  Hef 
ordinary  bland  state  of  complacent  self-satisfac- 
tion was  seriously  disturbed.  Miss  Leslie,  instead 
of  writing  to  express  her  grief  and  distress  at 
Boy's  departure — instead  of  doing  anything  that 
she  was  expected  to  do — had  actually  packed  up 
her  things  and  gone  to  America.  Did  anyone  ever 
hear  of  such  a  thing !  And  who  could  tell ! — she 
might  take  a  fancy  to  Major  Desmond's  niece  and 
leave  her  all  her  money !  And  Boy  would  be  done 
out  of  it!  For  this  flabby-minded,  inconsistent 
woman  had  convinced  herself  that  Boy  must  in- 
evitably be  Miss  Leslie's  heir  in  the  long  run. 
And  now  here  was  a  most  unexpected  turn  to 
affairs. 

That  night  she  wrote  to  Boy  a  letter  in  which 
the  following  passage  occurred : 

"  I  do  not  think  Miss  Leslie  is  as  fond  of  you 
as  she  professed  to  be,  for  she  has  never  said  one 
word  about  your  going  to  school,  or  sent  you  any 
message.  I  hear  she  has  gone  to  America  with 
Major  Desmond's  little  niece,  who  is  being  taken 
out  there  to  finish  her  education.  It  seems  a  funny 
place  to  send  an  English  girl  to  school,  but  I  sup- 
pose the  major  thinks  he  knows  best." 

Boy  read  this  with  the  weary  scorn  that  was 
becoming  habitual  with  him.  If  America  was  a 
funny  place  to  send  an  English  girl  to  school  at, 
he  thought,  France  was  a  still  funnier  place  for  an 
English  boy.     And  Miss  Letty  "  was  not  so  fond 

183 


BOY. 

of  him  as  she  professed  to  be,"  wasn't  she?  Boy 
thought  he  knew  better.  But  if  he  was  mistaken, 
it  did  not  matter  much.  Nothing  mattered  now. 
He  didn't  care.  Not  he.  It  was  foohsh  to  care 
about  anything  or  anybody.  So  one  of  his  school- 
mates told  him, — a  wiry  boy  from  Paris  with 
dark  eyes,  curly  black  hair,  and  a  trick  of  smiling 
at  nothing,  and  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  Qii'cst  que  c'est  la  vie!"  this  youthful  satirist 
would  say,  "  C'est  vicux  jeii! — bagatelle!  Ouf! 
Une  farce!  line  comcdie!  Tout  passe — tout 
casse! — et  Dieu  s' amuse!" 

And  Boy  shrugged  his  shoulders  likewise,  and 
smiled  at  nothing,  and  said, — 

"  Qu'est  que  c'est  la  vie!  Une  comedie!  Et 
Dieu  s' amuse!" 


184 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

The  steady  pulse  of  time,  which  goes  on  merci- 
lessly beating  with  calm  inflexibility,  regardless 
of  all  the  lesser  human  pulses  that  hurriedly  beat 
with  it  for  a  little  while  and  then  cease  for  ever, 
had  measured  out  six  whole  years  since  Boy  went 
to  "  skool"  in  France,  and  he  was  now  sixteen, 
and  also  one  of  the  foremost  scholars  at  a  well- 
known  English  military  school.  He  had  stayed 
in  France  for  over  a  year,  his  mother  having  gone 
there  to  spend  his  holidays  with  him,  rather  than 
allow  him  to  return  to  England  and  "  spoil  his 
French  accent,"  as  she  said.  Poor  Boy!  He 
never  had  much  of  an  accent,  and  what  he  learned 
of  French  was  very  soon  forgotten  when  he  came 
home.  But  what  he  learned  of  morals  in  France 
was  not  forgotten,  and  took  deep  root  in  his  char- 
acter. When  he  came  back  to  England  he  found 
his  father  settled  in  London  again,  and  bent  on 
a  sudden  new  scheme  of  education  for  him.  The 
Honourable  Jim  was  beginning  to  suffer  severely 
from  his  constant  unlimited  potations;  he  was 
looking  very  bloated  and  heavy,  and  his  eyes  had 
an  unpleasant  fixed  glare  in  them  occasionally, 
which  to  a  medical  observer  boded  no  good.  He 
had  almost  died  in  one  bad  fit  of  delirium  tremens, 
and  it  was  during  the  gradual  process  of  his  re- 
covery from  this  attack,  when  in  a  condition  of 

185 


BOY. 

maudlin  sentiment  and  general  shakiness,  that  he 
decided  on  a  public  military  training-school  as  the 
next  element  in  Boy's  education. 

"  Poor  little  chap!"  he  whimpered  to  the  phy- 
sician who  had  just  blandly  told  him  that  he  would 
be  dead  on  whiskey  in  two  years,  "  poor  little  chap ! 
I've  been  a  bad  father  to  him,  doctor, — yes,  I  have, 
d — n  it!  I've  left  his  bringing  up  to  my  wife, — 
and  she's  a  d — d  fool, — always  was, — married  her 
for  her  looks, — ain't  much  of  'em  now,  eh  ?  ha-ha ! 
all  gone  to  seed!  Well,  well! — we're  here  to-day 
and  gone  to-morrow !"  and  he  rolled  his  confused 
head  to  and  fro  on  his  pillows,  smiling  feebly, — 
"  That's  what  the  old-fashioned  clowns  used  to 
say  in  the  old-fashioned  pantomimes.  But,  by 
Jove!  I'll  turn  over  a  new  leaf — Boy  shall  be 
properly  educated,  d — n  it!     He  shall!" 

So  he  swore — and  so  he  resolved,  and  for  once 
carried  his  way  over  the  stout  expostulations  of 
his  wife,  who  had  some  other  "  scheme"  in  view 
for  "  my  son's  advancement,"  but  what  scheme  it 
was  she  was  unable  to  state  clearly.  No  such  idea 
crossed  either  of  their  minds  as  the  fact  that  Boy 
was  already  educated,  so  far  as  character  and  sus- 
ceptibility of  temperament  were  concerned.  Both 
father  and  mother  were  too  ignorant  to  realize  that 
whatever  good  or  bad  there  was  in  his  disposition 
was  already  too  fully  developed  to  be  either  checked 
or  diverted  from  its  course.  And  when  the  lad 
went  to  the  school  decided  upon,  it  was  with  ex- 
actly the  same  weariness,  indifference,  and  cyni- 

i86 


BOY. 

cism  with  which  he  had  gone  to  France.  He  had 
a  bright  brain,  and  soon  became  fully  conscious  of 
his  powers.  He  mastered  his  lessons  easily, —  and 
as  he  had  a  sort  of  dogged  determination  to  stand 
high  in  his  classes,  he  succeeded.  But  his  success 
gave  him  no  joy.  His  vague  fancies  about  the 
great  possibility  of  life  had  all  vanished.  In  the 
French  school,  among  the  boys  of  all  ages  and 
dispositions  he  met  there,  he  had  learned  that  the 
chief  object  of  living  was  to  please  one's  Self.  To 
do  all  that  seemed  agreeable  to  one's  Self — and 
never  mind  the  rest.  For  example,  one  could  be- 
lieve in  God  as  long  as  one  wished  to, — ^but  when 
this  same  God  did  not  arrange  things  as  suited 
one's  Self,  then  let  God  go.  And  Boy  took  this 
lesson  well  to  heart, — it  coloured  and  emphasised 
all  the  other  "  subjects"  for  which  he  "  crammed" 
steadily,  filling  up  his  exam,  papers  and  gaining 
thousands  of  marks  for  the  parrot-like  proficiency 
in  such  classical  forms  of  study  as  were  bound  to 
be  of  no  use  whatever  to  him  in  the  practical 
business  of  life.  He  was  training  to  be  an  officer, 
— and  in  consequence  of  this  was  learning  precisely 
everything  an  officer  need  not  know.  But  as  this 
is  too  frequently  the  system  of  national  education 
nowadays  in  all  professions,  particularly  the  mili- 
tary, the  least  said  about  it  the  better.  Boy,  like 
other  boys,  did  just  what  he  was  ordered  to  do, 
learned  just  what  he  was  required  to  learn,  with 
steady,  dogged  persistence  but  no  enthusiasm,  and 
spared  no  pains  to  grind  himself  down  into  the 

187 


BOY. 

approved  ordinary  pattern  of  an  English  college 
boy,  and  for  this  he  made  a  complete  sacrifice  of 
all  his  originality.  His  studies  fagged  him,  but 
he  showed  nothing  of  his  weariness,  and  equally 
said  nothing.  He  grew  thin  and  tall  and  weak 
and  nervous-looking, — and  one  of  the  chief  trou- 
bles of  his  life  was  his  mother.  Always  dutiful  to 
her,  he  did  his  best  to  be  affectionate, — for  he  was 
old  enough  now  to  feel  very  sorry  for  her, — sorry 
and  ashamed  as  well.  Truth  to  tell,  the  most 
casual  stranger  looking  at  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  could 
not  but  feel  a  timid  reluctance  to  be  seen  in  her 
company.  Always  inclined  to  fat,  she  had  grown 
fatter  than  ever, — always  loving  slothful  ease,  she 
had  grown  lazier;  her  clothes  were  a  mere  bun- 
dle hooked  loosely  round  her  large  form,  and  with 
ill-cut,  non-fitting  garments,  she  affected  a  "  fash- 
ionable" hat,  which  created  a  wild  and  almost 
alarming  effect  whenever  she  put  it  on.  Boy 
blushed  deeply  each  time  he  saw  her  thus  arrayed. 
In  fact,  he  often  became  painfully  agitated  when 
passers-by  would  stare  at  his  mother  with  a  de- 
risive smile, — always  over-sensitive,  he  could 
scarcely  keep  the  tears  out  of  his  eyes.  He  lived 
in  terror  lest  she  should  fulfil  her  frequently  ex- 
pressed intention  of  visiting  his  college  to  see  the 
cricket  matches  or  sham  fights  which  often  took 
place  in  the  grounds, — for  then,  if  she  did  come, 
he  would  have  to  walk  about  with  her  and  intro- 
duce her  perhaps  to  some  of  his  school-fellows. 
He  dreaded  this  possibility,  for  he  could  not  but 

i88 


BOY. 

compare  her  with  the  neat,  and  even  elegantly- 
dressed,  ladies  who  came  at  stated  times  to  the 
school,  and  were  proudly  presented  by  various  boys 
to  their  masters  as  "  my  mother."  How  dreadful 
it  would  be  if  he  had  to  own  that  the  large,  lolling 
bundle  of  clothes,  wispy  hair,  and  foolish  face  was 
"  my  mother!"  It  was  not  as  if  she  had  not  the 
means  to  be  tidy, — she  had, — and,  as  Boy  often 
noticed,  even  some  of  the  poorest  women  kept  them- 
selves clean  and  sweet.  Why  could  not  his  mother 
look  as  tidy,  for  instance,  as  their  own  servant- 
maid  when  she  went  out  on  Sunday?  He  could 
not  imagine.  And  he  dared  not  ask  her  to  be 
more  careful  of  her  personal  appearance  in  order 
to  save  him  shame ;  she  would,  of  course,  take  the 
suggestion  as  a  piece  of  gross  impertinence. 

And  did  he  ever  think  of  Miss  Letty?  Yes, — 
often  and  often  he  thought  of  her,  but  in  a  dull, 
hopeless,  far-away  fashion,  as  of  one  who  had 
passed  out  of  his  life,  never  to  be  seen  again. 
Ages  seemed  to  have  rolled  by  since  his  childhood, 
and  the  face  and  figure  of  his  old  friend  were  pretty 
nearly  as  dimly  indistinct  in  his  memory  as  the 
shape  and  look  of  his  once  adored  cow  '"  Dunny." 
Pie  heard  of  her  now  and  then, — for  her  course 
of  life  and  action  had  considerably  astonished 
and  irritated  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir,  who  frequently 
found  occasion  to  make  unkind  remarks  on 
the  "  fads"  of  that  "  silly  old  maid."  How- 
ever, Miss  Letty  had  no  "  fads" ;  she  merely 
made  it  a  rule  to  be  useful  wherever  she  could, 

189 


BOY. 

and  if  she  thought  she  saw  a  Hue  of  work 
and  duty  laid  down  for  her  to  follow,  she  in- 
variably follow^ed  it.  When  she  had  gone  out 
to  the  States  with  Major  Desmond  as  temporary 
chaperone  to  his  niece,  she  met  with  so  much  kind- 
ness and  hospitality  from  the  Americans,  so  much 
instant  appreciation  of  her  good  breeding,  grace, 
and  fine  qualities,  that  she  was  quite  affected  by 
it;  and  she  had  only  been  two  or  three  months  in 
New  York,  when  she  found,  to  her  amazement 
and  gratitude,  that  she  had  hosts  of  friends. 
Young  girls  adored  her, — young  men  came  to  her 
with  their  confidences, — and  all  the  elder  women, 
married  and  unmarried,  came  round  her,  attracted 
by  her  sweetness,  tactfulness,  simplicity  of  manner 
and  absolute  sincerity.  "  Our  English  Miss  Letty" 
was  her  new  sobriquet,  and  Major  Desmond's 
young  niece,  Violet  Morrison,  always  called  her 
"  my  own  Miss  Letty."  Violet  was  a  very  sweet, 
engaging  child,  and  when  she  went  to  the  school  in 
New  Jersey  selected  for  her,  she  said  to  her  uncle 
coaxingly  on  the  day  he  left  her  there,  — 

''  Wouldn't  it  be  nice  if  Miss  Letty  lived  over 
here  while  I  am  at  school?  I  could  always  go  to 
her  for  my  holidays,  then." 

The  major  pinched  her  soft  round  cheek  and 
kissed  her  and  called  her  a  "  little  baggage," — did 
she  suppose,  he  asked,  that  Miss  Letty  was  going 
to  absent  herself  from  England  all  that  while  just 
to  make  holidays  for  a  chit  of  a  girl?  But  he 
thought  about  the  matter  a  good  deal,  not  from 

190 


BOY. 

any  selfish  point  of  view,  but  solely  on  account  of 
the  happiness  of  the  dear  woman  he  had  secretly 
loved  so  long,  and  whom  he  meant  to  love  to  the 
end.  Sitting  meditatively  in  one  of  the  luxurious 
New  York  clubs,  of  which,  with  the  ready  courtesy 
Americans  show  to  their  stranger-visitors,  he  had 
been  made  an  honorary  member,  the  major  turned 
Miss  Letty's  position  over  in  his  mind.  She  was 
all  alone  in  the  world,  and  though  she  was  rich, 
he  knew  her  nature  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  in 
her  case  riches  did  not  compensate  for  solitude. 
She  had  certain  friends  in  England, — but  none  of 
them  were  half  as  sympathetic,  warm-hearted,  or 
kindly  as  those  she  had  made  so  quickly  in  America. 
She  had  been  disappointed  in  her  love  for  Boy; 
and  if  she  tried  to  intervene  in  the  further  dispo- 
sition of  his  fate,  she  would  probably  be  disap- 
pointed again.  Now  here,  in  America,  was  Vio- 
let, studying  hard  to  become  a  bright,  clever,  sweet 
woman,  to  learn  to  talk  well  and  to  know  thor- 
oughly what  she  was  talking  about, — not  to  be  a 
mere  figure-head  of  femininity,  just  capable  of 
wearing  a  gown  and  having  a  baby.  Something 
more  than  that  was  demanded  for  Violet;  the 
major  wanted  her  to  be  brought  up  to  understand 
the  beauty  and  satisfaction  of  an  impersonal  life, 
— a  life  that  should  widen  not  narrow  with  ex- 
perience,— and  who  could  be  a  more  faithful  home 
instructress  of  unselfishness  and  virtue  than  Miss 
Letty  ?  Yes ;  it  would  certainly  mean  a  great  and 
lasting  benefit  to  Violet  if  she  could  have  the  bless- 

191 


BOY. 

ing  of  Miss  Letty's  influence  and  affectionate  guid- 
ance in  the  opening  out  of  her  young  Hfe.  And 
what  of  Miss  Letty  herself? 

"  Give  that  dear  woman  something  to  do  for 
somebody  else,"  mused  the  major,  "  and  she's  per- 
fectly happy.  It's  only  for  herself  she  doesn't  care 
to  do  anything.  Now  I  shall  make  her  life  best 
worth  living,  if  I  can  fill  it  with  duties, — that  is, 
if  I  can  only  persuade  her  to  accept  the  duties." 

And  after  some  further  cogitation  he  went  to 
Miss  Letty  and  explained  himself  thoroughly,  with, 
as  he  thought,  a  most  artful  and  painstaking  elab- 
oration of  his  young  niece's  position, — how  hard 
it  was  for  her  to  be  without  someone  of  her  own 
sex  to  look  after  her,  deprived  as  she  was  of  a 
mother's  influence  and  example,  and  so  on  and  so 
on,  till  Miss  Letty  suddenly  stopped  him  in  his 
eloquent  harangue  by  a  little  shake  of  her  head  and 
an  uplifted  finger  of  protest. 

"Dick!"  she  said,  with  a  sparkle  in  her  eyes 
suggestive  of  a  dewdrop  and  sunbeam  in  one,  "  you 
are  a  dear  old  humbug!" 

The  major  started  and  blushed, — yes,  actually 
blushed.  He  had  considered  himself  a  wonderful 
diplomatist,  able  to  prepare  a  scheme  of  so  deep 
and  wily  a  nature  that  the  most  astute  person 
would  never  be  able  to  fathom  it,  and,  after  all  his 
crafty  preparations,  his  plan  turned  out  to  be  so 
transparent  that  a  simple  woman  could  see  through 
it  at  once.     He  wriggled  on  his  chair  uneasily, 


192 


BOY. 

coughed,  and  looked  distinctly  taken  aback,  while 
Miss  Letty  went  on, — 

"  Yes,  you  are  a  dear  old  humbug,  Dick !"  she 
said,  "  and  a  good,  kind  friend  as  well.  It  is  not 
for  Violet's  sake  that  you  want  me  to  stay  over 
this  side  of  ocean  for  a  while, — for  there  are  hun- 
dreds of  nice  women  here  who  would  be  only  too 
pleased  to  have  the  child  pass  her  holidays  with 
them  and  their  daughters.  No,  Dick!  it  isn't  for 
Violet's  sake  half  so  much  as  it  is  for  mine.  I  see 
that,  and  I  understand  your  good  heart.  You 
think  I  am  a  lonely  old  body, — getting  older 
quickly  every  day, — and  that  the  more  friends  I 
have,  and  the  greater  the  interest  I  can  take  in 
other  lives  than  my  own,  the  better  it  will  be  for 
me.  And  you're  right,  Dick.  I'm  not  a  fool,  and 
I  hope  I  am  neither  obstinate  nor  selfish.  I  see 
what  you  mean!  You  are  very  clear,  my  dear 
friend, — clear  as  crystal !  I  have  not  known  you 
all  these  years  for  nothing.  I  honour  and  admire 
you,  Dick,  and  if  I  didn't  go  by  your  advice  pretty 
often,  I  should  be  the  most  ungrateful  creature 
under  the  sun.  The  only  interest  I  have — or  had 
— in  England,  apart  from  my  natural  love  of  home, 
is  Boy;  but  it  is  quite  evident  his  mother  doesn't 
wish  me  to  interfere  with  him,  so  I'm  better  out  of 
the  way.  And  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  Dick, 
I'll  do  just  what  you  wish  me  to  do!" 

"  Hooray,  hooray!"  cried  the  major,  ecstatically. 
"  Oh,  Letty,  Letty,  what  a  wife  you  would  have 
made.  And  it's  not  too  late  even  now.  Won't  you 
13  193 


BOY. 

have  me?  We're  too  old  to  play  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
but  we  can  play  Darby  and  Joan !" 

In  his  excitement,  Desmond  had  risen,  and,  lean- 
ing behind  Miss  Letty's  chair,  had  slipped  an  arm 
round  her,  and  now  with  one  hand  he  turned  up 
the  dear  face,  so  delicate,  so  little  wrinkled,  so 
tenderly  shaped  by  approving  Time  into  the  sweet- 
est of  sweet  expressions.  The  faintest  pink  col- 
oured the  pale  cheeks  at  this  impulsive  caress  of 
her  old  and  faithful  adorer. 

"  Dick,  if  I  did  not  believe,  as  I  do,  that  God 
always  brings  true  lovers  together  again  after 
death,  I  should  say  '  Yes'  to  you,  and  do  my  best, 
old  woman  as  I  am,  to  be  a  companion  to  you  for 
the  rest  of  your  life,  and  make  your  home  cosy 
and  comfortable;  but  you  see  I  gave  my  promise 
to  Harry  before  he  went  to  India  that  I  would 
never  marry  an3^one  but  himself.  He  died  true — 
and  so  must  I !" 

Never  was  the  poor  major  more  bitterly  and 
sorely  tempted  than  at  that  moment.  With  all  his 
heart  he  longed  to  tell  the  trusting,  gentle  creature 
how  utterly  unworthy  this  same  "  Harry"  had 
always  been  of  such  pure  devotion;  he  v/anted 
to  say  that  the  person  likely  to  "  die  true"  was 
himself,  and  that  the  dead  man  she  idolized  did 
not  merit  a  day's  regret;  but  the  strong  sense  of 
honour  in  the  gallant  old  man  held  him  silent, 
though  he  bit  his  lips  hard  to  check  the  outburst 
of  truth  which  threatened  to  rise  and  overcome  his 
self-control.     If  he  told  her  all,  he  would  be  doing 

194 


BOY. 

two  things  that  were  in  his  estimation  villanous, 
— first,  he  would  be  taking  away  a  dead  man's  char- 
acter; and,  secondly,  he  would  be  destroying  a 
good  woman's  life-long  faith.  No, — it  was  im- 
possible,— he  could  not,  would  not  do  it.  He  gave 
a  deep  sigh,  then  patted  Miss  Letty's  white  fore- 
head gently  and  smoothed  the  silver  hair. 

"  Have  your  own  way,  my  dear !"  he  said,  re- 
signedly, "  have  your  own  way !  I  ought  to  be 
contented  to  have  you  as  my  friend,  without  hank- 
ering after  you  as  a  wife.  I  am  a  selfish  old  rascal, 
— that's  what's  the  matter  with  me.  Forget  and 
forgive!" 

"  There's  nothing  to  either  forget  or  forgive, 
Dick,"  she  said  quickly,  and  with  a  sense  of  com- 
punction, giving  him  her  hand,  which  he  kissed  ten- 
derly though  "  Harry's"  engagement-ring  still 
sparkled  on  it,  "  I  don't  deserve  all  your  affection; 
but  I  don't  mind  telling  you  I  should  be  very  much 
unhappier  than  I  am,  without  it !" 

"Well,  that's  something!"  said  the  major,  be- 
ginning to  smile  again,  and  walking  up  and  down 
the  room.  "  That's  what  we  may  call  a  bit  of 
heart's-ease.  And  now,  if  you  are  going  to  do 
exactly  what  I  want  you  to  do,  I  suggest  that  you 
should  take  a  pretty  house  on  Long  Island, — one 
of  those  charming  and  luxurious  villas  with  big 
gardens,  where  you  can  roam  about  and  enjoy 
yourself, — and  let  me  cross  the  herring-pond  for 
you  and  see  to  the  letting  of  your  place  in  England. 
You  can  do  something  advantageous  with  it  for  a 

195 


BOY. 

year  or  two,  and  till  that  time  you  might  tour 
through  America  and  see  everything  worth  seeing. 
And  when  I  have  transacted  your  business  I  will 
attend  to  my  own,  come  out  here  again,  and  enjoy 
myself,  too !" 

And  so,  after  more  discussion,  it  was  finally  de- 
cided, and  so,  much  to  the  pleasure  of  Miss  Letty's 
numerous  friends  in  America,  it  was  finally  ar- 
ranged. And  "  our  English  Miss  Letty"  estab- 
lished herself  in  a  beautiful  house  elegantly  fur- 
nished, whose  windows  commanded  a  fine  view  o^ 
the  sea,  and  which  was  surrounded  by  gardens 
full  of  wonderful  flowers,  such  as  are  never  seen 
in  England,  and  a  conservatory  still  more  gor- 
geously supplied ;  and  though  she  missed  the  songs 
of  the  sweet  English  birds,  the  skylark,  the  black- 
bird, the  thrush,  and  the  familiar  robin,  she  still 
had  sufficient  natural  beauty  about  her  to  be  in  her 
own  quiet  way  thankful  for  life  and  its  privileges. 
She  began  to  have  serious  thoughts  of  making  her 
home  for  good  in  America,  for  Violet  gathered 
about  her  such  an  assemblage  of  bright  young 
people,  and  she  herself  was  so  much  in  demand, 
that  she  often  wondered  how  it  would  ever  be  pos- 
sible for  her  to  escape  from  so  many  pleasant  ties 
and  go  back  to  England  again.  She  had  written 
to  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir,  giving  her  address  and 
stating  something  of  her  future  intentions,  but 
had  received  no  reply.  And  Boy  never  wrote  to 
her  at  all.  But  she  was  not  very  much  surprised 
at  that,  as  it  was  most  likely  his  mother  would  not 

iq6 


BOY. 

tell  him  where  she  was.  And  so  time  flew  on  in- 
sensibly, one  year  after  another,  and  Violet  Mor- 
rison, from  a  little  girl,  grew  up  into  a  pretty 
maiden  of  seventeen  summers, — graceful  and  gen- 
tle, clever,  good,  true,  and  devoted  to  Miss  Letty, 
who  loved  her  as  a  daughter,  though  her  old  af- 
fection for  Boy  never  grew  cold.  Boy  as  she  knew 
him, — Boy  with  all  his  little  droll,  pretty  ways  as 
a  child, — Boy  with  his  sad,  wistful  old-fashioned 
manner,  the  result  of  home  drawbacks,  when  he 
came  to  see  her  in  Scotland,  after  which  she  had 
lost  him  for  good, — Boy  was  still  the  secret  idol 
of  her  heart  next  to  "  Harry,"  whose  image  re- 
mained the  centre  of  that  inmost  shrine.  She 
could  not  picture  Boy  at  all  as  a  lad  of  fifteen, — 
to  her  he  was  always  a  child;  and  on  a  little 
bracket,  near  the  chair  where  she  was  accustomed 
to  sit  every  day  with  her  needle-work,  there  always 
stood  the  only  two  mementoes  she  had  of  him,— 
the  toy  cow  "  Dunny,"  unchanged  in  aspect, 
which  he  had  viewed  with  such  indifference  in 
Scotland,  and  had  left  behind  him  there,  and  the 
little  pair  of  shabby  shoes,  the  souvenirs  of  the 
first  time  he  ever  stayed  with  her. 

One  day  Violet  Morrison  asked  her  uncle  about 
these  mysterious  relics. 

"  Why  does  Miss  Letty  keep  that  funny  cow 
and  those  little  shoes  always  beside  her?" 

Major  Desmond  puffed  at  his  cigar,  and  sur- 
veyed his  niece's  pretty  rounded  figure,  bright  face, 


197 


BOY. 

and  sweet  expression  with  much  inward  satisfac- 
tion.    He  met  her  question  with  another. 

"  Have  you  ever  asked  her?" 

Violet  blushed. 

"  No.  I  don't  think  it's  good  taste  to  ask  people 
about  their  little  fancies.  One  may  hurt  them 
quite  unintentionally.  And  I  wouldn't  hurt  darl- 
ing Miss  Letty  for  the  world !" 

"That's  right,  child!"  said  the  major;  "you 
have  the  true  feeling.  But  there  is  not  much  mys- 
tery about  that  toy  cow  or  those  shoes.  Miss 
Letty,  bless  her  heart,  has  no  deep  secrets  in  her 
life.  The  cow  and  the  shoes  belonged  to  a  little 
chap  named  Robert  D'Arcy-Muir,  but  generally 
called  '  Boy.'  She  loved  him  very  much  and 
wanted  to  adopt  him;  but  his  mother  would  not 
let  her, — and  so — and  so — she  has  got  the  cow 
and  the  shoes,  and  that's  all  that's  left  of  him !" 

"  I  see,"  murmured  Violet,  and  her  pretty  eyes 
grew  moist.  After  a  pause  she  said,  "  I  suppose 
she  could  not  love  me  as  she  loved  Boy?" 

"  She  loves  you  very  much,"  answered  the  ma- 
jor, discreetly. 

"  Yes,  but  not  as  she  loved  Boy.  I  was  never 
quite  a  little  child  with  her.  I  think,"  and  the 
girl's  fair  face  grew  very  serious,  "  if  you  once  love 
a  little  child,  you  must  always  love  it." 

"  What,  even  if  the  child  disappears  altogether 
into  a  boy,  and  then  into  a  man,  and  perhaps  an 
unpleasant  man?"  queried  the  major,  with  some 
amusement.     But  Violet  did  not  smile. 

198 


BOY. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  she  repHed.  "  You  see,  you 
can  never  forget — if  you  ever  knew — that  though 
he  may  be  grown  into  a  man — perhaps  a  bad  man 
— still  he  was  a  dear  Httle  child  once.  That's  what 
makes  mothers  so  patient,   I'm  sure !" 

She  turned  away,  not  trusting  herself  to  say  any 
more,  for  she  had  loved  her  own  mother  dearly, 
and  had  never  quite  got  over  her  loss. 

The  major  took  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth  and 
looked  at  its  end  meditatively. 

"  How  these  young  creatures  think  nowadays !" 
he  said.  "  Dear  me !  I  never  used  to  think  about 
anything  when  I  was  Violet's  age.  Life  was  all 
beer  and  skittles,  as  they  say.  I  kicked  about  me 
like  a  young  colt  in  a  green  pasture.  Upon  my 
word,  I  think  that  life  is  much  too  crowded  with 
learning  for  the  young  folks  in  our  present  glorious 
age  of  progress.  They  become  positively  meta- 
physical before  they're  twenty." 

Meanwhile,  Violet,  whose  heart  was  burdened 
with  a  secret  which  she  was  afraid  to  tell  to  her 
uncle,  went  in  search  of  Miss  Letty.  It  was  a 
very  warm  day,  though  not  as  warm  as  summer 
days  in  America  usually  are,  and  the  shadiest  part 
of  the  house  was  the  deep  verandah,  where  clema- 
tis and  the  trumpet-vine  clustered  together  round 
the  light  wooden  pillars  and  made  tempting  fes- 
toons of  blossom  for  the  humming-birds,  which, 
like  living  jewels,  poised  and  flew,  and  thrust 
their  long  slender  beaks  into  the  deep  cups  of  the 
flowers,  with  an  incessant,  soft,  beelike  murmur  of 

199 


BOY. 

delight.  Violet,  in  her  simple  white  gown,  tied  at 
the  waist  with  a  knot  of  ribbon,  paused  and  shaded 
her  eyes  from  the  burning  sunlight,  while  she 
looked  right  and  left  to  see  if  Miss  Letty  were 
anywhere  near.  Yes,  there  she  was,  sitting  just 
inside  the  verandah  in  a  low  basket-chair,  protected 
by  a  pretty  striped  awning,  busy  as  usual  with  the 
embroidery  at  which  she  was  such  a  skilled  adept, 
her  white  fingers  moving  swiftly,  and  her  whole 
attitude  and  expression  one  of  the  greatest  sim- 
plicity and  content. 

"  How  peaceful  she  looks,"  thought  Violet,  with 
a  little  nervous  tremour.  "  I  wonder  if  she  will 
be  vexed  with  me." 

Miss  Letty  at  that  moment  raised  her  eyes  to 
watch  the  dainty  caperings  of  two  of  the  humming- 
birds, whose  exquisite  blue  wings  glittered  like 
large  animated  sapphires,  and  in  so  doing  saw 
Violet,  and  smiled.  The  girl  approached  quickly, 
and  threw  herself  down  beside  her,  taking  her  hat 
off,  and  lifting  her  bright  hair  from  her  forehead 
with  a  little  sigh. 

"Are  you  tired,  my  dear?"  asked  Miss  Letty, 
gently. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  am.  It  is  warm,  isn't  it !  Oh, 
dear.  Miss  Letty,  you  do  look  so  sweet!  Were 
you  always  as  good  as  you  are  now?" 

Miss  Letty  laid  down  her  embroidery  and 
smiled  at  this  question. 

"  Good  ?  My  dear  child,  I'm  not  good.  I  am 
just  as  I  always  was, — a  woman, — getting  to  be 

200 


BOY. 

a  very  old  one  now, — full  of  faults  and  failings. 
What  makes  you  ask  me  such  a  funny  ques- 
tion?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  and  Violet  bit  the  ribbon  of 
her  hat  spasmodically.  "  My  own  Miss  Letty, 
were  you  ever  in  love?" 

The  gentle  lady  started,  and  her  delicate  hands 
trembled  as  she  quietly  took  up  her  work  and  re- 
sumed her  stitching. 

"  Yes,  Violet,"  she  answered,  softly,  "  and,  what 
you  will  say  is  more  extraordinary,  I  am  in  love 
still!" 

"  He  is  dead?"  queried  Violet,  timidly. 

"  Yes.  He  is  dead,  so  far  as  this  world  goes ; 
but  he  is  alive  for  me  in  heaven.  And  I  shall  meet 
him — soon !" 

She  raised  her  patient,  sweet  eyes  for  a  moment, 
— and  their  expression  was  so  heavenly, — the 
youth  and  beauty  of  the  past  were  so  earnestly 
reflected  in  their  clear  depths,  that  Violet  almost 
forgot  it  was  an  old  face  in  which  those  orbs  of 
constancy  were  set. 

"  Is  that  why  you  never  married  ?"  asked  Violet, 
in  hushed,  tender  tones. 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  That  is  why.  For  I  am  an 
old-fashioned  body,  and  I  believe  in  the  maxim, 
'  Once  love,  love  always' !" 

"Ah,  yes!" 

Violet  turned  her  head  away  and  was  silent  for 
a  long  time.     Miss  Letty,  still  working,  glanced  at 


20 1 


BOY. 

her  now  and  then  with  a  smile,  till  at  last  she  said 
in  sweet,  equable  tones, — 

"  Well !  How  long  am  I  to  wait  for  this  little 
confession?    Who  is  he?" 

A  face  was  turned  upon  her,  rosy  as  the  leaves 
of  the  trumpet-vine  flowers  above, — a  pair  of 
bright  eyes  flashed  like  the  twinkle  of  the  hum- 
ming-bird's wings,  and  a  muffled  voice  ex- 
claimed,— 

"Miss  Letty!" 

In  another  moment  the  girl  was  at  her  feet, 
hiding  her  head  in  the  folds  of  her  old  friend's 
gown,  and  making  dreadful  havoc  with  the  silks 
and  filoselles  which  were  in  use  for  the  embroid- 
ery. 

"  Mind !  There  are  needles  about !"  said  Miss 
Letty,  laughing  a  little.  "  They  will  scratch  your 
pretty  face, — dear  me ! — you're  catching  all  the 
silks  in  your  hair,"  and  she  carefully  took  out 
threads  of  blue  and  red  and  gold  from  the  bright, 
rippling  curls  of  the  bent  head  at  her  knee.  "  Now, 
what's  the  matter?" 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter,"  answered  Violet,  still 
hiding  her  eyes,  though  she  got  hold  of  Miss 
Letty's  two  hands  and  held  them  fast.  "  It's  only 
that  last  night — he  said — he  said " 

"That  he  loved  you?"  said  Miss  Letty,  ten- 
derly, trying  to  help  her  out,  and  stroking  her 
hair.  "  Well,  that's  very  natural  on  the  part  of 
any  young  man,  I'm  sure.     But  who  is  he?" 


202 


BOY. 

Violet  perked  her  head  up  for  a  minute,  and  then 
burrowed  it  down  again. 

"Ah!  That's  just  it!"  she  said,  in  smothered 
accents.     "  He  is  not  exactl}^  young." 

"  Oh,  dear  me !     Is  he  old  ?" 

"'  Oh,  no!"  This  answer  was  most  emphatic. 
"  But  he  isn't  a  boy,  you  know.  He  is — well — I 
suppose  he  is  about  thirty-five." 

"  My  dear  child !  But  before  I  pass  any  opinion, 
or  giwQ  any  advice,  will  you  not  just  tell  me  plainly 
who  he  is?  Does  your  uncle  know  him?  Do  I 
know  him?" 

"  Everybody  knows  him,"  said  Violet.  "  That's 
the  worst  of  it.  That's  why  I'm  afraid  you  won't 
like  it.    He  is  Mr.  Max  Nugent." 

Miss  Letty  almost  jumped  out  of  her  chair. 
Max  Nugent,  the  millionaire ! — the  man  after 
whom  all  the  "  society"  beauties  of  London,  Paris, 
and  New  York  had  been  running  like  hunters  after 
a  fox, — he  in  love  with  little  Violet?  It  seemed 
strange,  almost  unnatural;  she  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve it,  and  in  the  extremity  of  her  surprise  was 
quite  speechless. 

"  He  says  he  wishes  he  was  not  a  millionaire," 
said  Violet,  in  doleful  accents,  beginning  to  twist 
her  hat  round  and  round.  "  He  says  he  wishes  he 
was  just  a  clerk  in  an  office  doing  a  grind,  and 
coming  home  to  me  in  a  little  weeny  house.  He 
would  be  quite  content.  But  he  can't  help  it.  You 
see,  his  father  left  him  all  the  dreadful  money,  and 
the  only  thing  he  can  use  it  for  is  to  try  to  make 

203 


BOY. 

other  people  happy.  And  he  thinks  I  might  help 
him  to  do  that.  But,  there,  I  see  by  your  looks 
you  don't  like  it." 

A  sudden  rush  of  tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  Miss 
Letty,  recalling  her  scattered  wits,  made  haste  to 
put  her  arms  round  her  and  comfort  her. 

"  My  dear  Violet,  my  darling  girl,  don't  cry ; 
you  quite  mistake  me.  I  am  surprised,  indeed, 
very  much  surprised,  but  I  am  not  displeased.  I 
know  very  little  about  Mr.  Nugent.  I  daresay  he 
is  a  very  good  man.  Your  uncle  sees  more  of  him 
than  I  do ;  but  you  must  remember  he  is  so  much 
older  than  you  are,  and  so  much  sought  after  by 
the  world  that  it  seems  difficult  to  realise  that  he 
wants  to  marry  my  little  girl.  There,  there !  Don't 
cry!    Does  your  uncle  know ?" 

"  I  couldn't  tell  him,"  sobbed  Violet.  "  I  wanted 
to,  but  I  didn't  dare.  And  Max  said  that  if  I  told 
you,  he  would  tell  uncle.  Do  you  see?  Then  you 
two  would  meet  and  talk  it  over.  There  is  noth- 
ing wrong  with  Max  except  his  horrid  money. 
Because  everybody  will  say  that  I  am  a  mean, 
designing,  little  wretch;  and  I  really  have  not 
been  anything  of  the  kind.  I  never  did  anything 
to  make  him  like  me,  only  being  just  myself " 

Miss  Letty  kissed  her. 

"  That  is  the  secret  of  it,  little  one,"  she  said. 
"  Being  yourself,  your  dear  self,  is  the  only  way 
to  win  a  man's  heart.    And  do  you  love  him?" 

Violet  raised  her  eyes  fully  this  time  and  dashed 
away  her  tears. 

204 


BOY. 

"  Yes,  I  do !"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  I  love  him 
dearly!" 

Miss  Letty  stroked  her  hair  thoughtfully. 

"  It  will  be  a  very  responsible  position  for  you, 
dear  child,  if  you  marry  Mr.  Nugent,"  she  said, 
seriously.  "  Very  brilliant,  very  difficult,  almost 
dangerous  for  such  a  young  thing  as  you  are.  I 
think,  Violet,  that  perhaps  you  would  rather  not 
have  any  advice  from  me  just  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes !  Do  advise  me.  I  want  advice," 
cried  the  girl,  enthusiastically.  "  Max  said  what- 
ever you  told  me  I  was  to  do,  as  he  honoured  you 
more  than  any  woman  in  the  world — except  me !" 

Miss  Letty  laughed. 

*'  I  was  going  to  say,  surely  he  makes  that  one 
reservation !"  she  said.  "  Well,  my  dear,  my  ad- 
vice is  that  you  refrain  from  entering  into  any 
sort  of  an  engagement  for  at  least  a  year.  Your 
love  for  each  other  will  hold  out  during  that  time 
of  probation  if  it  is  worth  anything, — and  then 
you  will  be  more  certain  of  your  own  mind.  Yes, 
I  know,"  for  Violet  was  about  to  interrupt  her. 
"  You  think  you  are  quite  certain  now ;  but  you 
are  not  eighteen  yet, — a  mere  child, — and  Mr.  Nu- 
gent is  a  man  of  the  world.  Believe  me,  dear,  it 
will  be  better  for  you,  and  better  for  him,  to  en- 
dure this  test  of  faith.  However,  I  am  not  the 
only  one  whose  advice  you  must  consider;  there 
is  your  Uncle  Desmond.  Now  you  know,  Violet, 
he  is  one  of  the  best  and  kindest  men  living,  and  he 
is  very  anxious  to  do  everything  well  for  his  dear 

205 


BOY. 

sister's  child ;  you  will  obey  his  wishes  whatever 
they  are,  will  you  not?" 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  I  will !"  said  Violet,  earnestly. 
"  I  promise !" 

"  That's  my  dear  girl,"  and  Miss  Letty  kissed 
her  again.  '"  Now  tell  me  all  about  this  wonder- 
ful Max, — though  I  know  just  how  you  feel  about 
him." 

"Do  you?"  said  Violet,  smiling  and  blushing. 
"  Then  you  tell  me!" 

"  You  feel,"  said  Miss  Letty,  taking  her  hands 
and  pressing  them  tenderly,  "  that  there  never  was, 
and  never  will  be,  such  a  splendid  lover  for  a  girl 
in  the  world  as  he  is.  You  feel  that  when  he  is 
near  you  you  are  quite  happy,  and  want  noth- 
ing more  than  just  to  hear  him  speak,  and  watch 
his  eyes  resting  upon  you.  You  feel  that  there 
is  a  blank  in  your  life  when  he  is  absent.  You 
feel  that  you  would  not  worry  him  or  vex  him  by 
so  much  as  a  thought.  You  feel  that  if  God  were 
to  take  him  from  you  now  you  would  be  very 
lonely, — that  you  would  perhaps  never  get  over  it 
all  your  life  long." 

Her  voice  trembled,  and  Violet  threw  her  arms 
impulsively  about  her. 

"  Dear,  dear  Miss  Letty,  you  know !" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Letty,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  I 
know.  Now,  little  one,  let  us  try  and  talk  quietly 
over  this  affair.  Let  me  get  to  my  work, — you 
talk  and  I  listen." 


206 


BOY. 

And  so  as  the  drowsy  heat  of  the  afternoon 
cooled  off  towards  sunset,  when  the  humming- 
birds left  off  kissing  the  flowers  and  went  to  bed, 
like  jewels  put  by  in  their  velvety  nest-cases,  the 
two  w^omen  sat  together, — the  one  young  and  brim- 
ful of  hope  and  the  dreams  of  innocence,  the  other 
old,  but  as  fresh  in  heart  and  simplicity  of  faith  as 
the  girl  who  so  joyously  exulted  in  her  spring- 
time. 

That  evening  Violet  went  off  to  a  dance  at  the 
house  of  a  neighbour,  and  Major  Desmond  dropped 
in  to  see  Miss  Letty,  just  as  she  was  thinking  it 
was  about  time  to  go  to  bed,  notwithstanding  the 
wonderful  glory  of  the  moon  which  looks  so  much 
more  luminous  and  brilliant  in  the  clear  atmos- 
phere of  America  than  in  the  half-misty  but  more 
tender  pearl  tint  of  the  ever-changeful  English 
skies.  She  stood  on  the  low  step  of  her  verandah, 
gazing  wistfully  up  at  the  proudly  glittering  Diana 
sweeping  through  heaven  like  the  veritable  hun- 
tress of  the  classic  fable,  without  a  cloud  to  soften 
the  silver  flashing  of  her  bow,  and  as  the  major's 
stalwart  figure  came  slowly  across  the  lawn  she 
was  for  a  moment  startled.  He  looked  anxious 
and  careworn,  and  her  heart  sank  a  little.  She  was 
not  actually  surprised  to  see  him ;  he  had  his  suite 
of  rooms  at  an  hotel  not  so  very  far  away,  and 
he  was  accustomed  to  stroll  up  to  her  house  very 
often,  bringing  his  friends  with  him.  But  a  wor- 
ried look  on  that  cheery  face  was  new  to  her,  and 
she  was  not  a  little  troubled  to  see  it. 

207 


BOY. 

"  Why,  Dick,"  she  said,  as  he  approached,  "  isn't 
this  rather  a  late  visit?" 

"  Is  it  too  late  for  you,  Letty  ?"  he  asked,  gently. 
"If  so,  I'll  go  away  again." 

'"'  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  said,  cheer- 
ily. "  Violet  has  gone  to  a  dance,  and  I  meant  to 
sit  up  for  her  in  my  room,  but  now  we'll  both  sit  up 
for  her  here.  What  a  warm  day  it  has  been ! — and 
it's  a  warm  night,  too, — I'll  order  you  an  iced 
sherry-cobbler." 

She  rang  a  bell  which  communicated  with  the 
house,  and  gave  her  order  to  the  servant  who  an- 
swered it,  then  pushed  a  comfortable  chair  for- 
ward.    The  major  sank  into  it  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"That's  nice!"  he  said;  "and  I  won't  say  no 
to  the  sherry-cobbler.     I've  had  a  wearying  day." 

"  Have  you  ?  I  am  sorry !"  and  Miss  Letty's 
eyes  were  full  of  sympathy.  "  Is  it  about — about 
Violet?" 

"  Yes,  it's  about  Violet,"  said  the  major,  and 
then  became  silent,  meditatively  tinkling  with  a 
spoon  the  lumps  of  ice  in  the  sherry-cobbler  which 
had  just  been  set  before  him. 

"  But  I  don't  think  you  need  worry  about  that," 
began  Miss  Letty. 

He  interrupted  her  by  a  slight  gesture. 

"Ah,  you  dear  woman !  You  don't  know.  You 
are  as  sweetly  ignorant  of  the  ways  of  modern  men 
as  the  ladies  in  the  old-fashioned  '  Book  of  Beauty,* 
who  always  wore  their  hair  parted  in  the  middle 
and  smiled  on  serenely  at  everything  and  every- 
'208 


BOY. 

body,  even  when  their  Hves  were  ruined  and  their 
hearts  broken.  No,  Letty!  You  don't  know. 
Has  Violet  told  you?" 

"About  Mr.  Nugent? — Yes.  I  confess  I  was 
very  much  surprised." 

"  So  was  I — so  I  am  still,"  said  the  major.  "  I 
don't  know  what  to  say  about  it.  You  see,  Letty, 
it's  this  way.  Max  Nugent' s  father  was  the  big- 
gest rascal  that  ever  died  unhanged.  He  made 
his  wealth  by  fraud, — and,  thank  goodness, he  killed 
himself  by  over-eating !  This  young  man,  his  only 
son,  may  be  a  very  good  fellow ;  but  he  has  nothing 
to  be  proud  of  in  his  ancestry,  and  he  has  seen  a 
great  deal  of  the  worst  side  of  the  world.  He  has 
lived  his  own  life  in  Paris,  Petersburg,  and  Vienna, 
and  I  doubt — I  doubt  whether  he  w^ould  make  such 
a  simple,  unsophisticated  little  girl  as  Violet  happy. 
I  told  him  so  plainly.  He  came  to  me  to-day  and 
talked  very  eloquently, — and  I  must  say  very  well. 
I  explained  to  him  that  his  wealth  was  simply 
monstrous  and  appalling, — positively  vulgar,  in 
fact.  He  said  he  knew  it  was,  but  he  could  not 
help  it.     Which  of  course  he  can't." 

Miss  Letty  laughed. 

"  Poor  man !  Are  you  not  a  little  hard  on  him, 
Dick?" 

The  major  sipped  his  cobbler  with  a  relish.  His 
brows  were  clear, — the  gentle  presence  of  Miss 
Letty  was  already  doing  him  good. 

"  I  think  not, — I  hope  not,"  he  answered.  "  I 
told  him  just  what  I  felt  about  it.  I  said  that  his 
14  209 


BOY. 

money  was  a  disgrace,  because  it  had  been  gotten 
together  by  fraud.  He  admitted  it.  He  offered 
to  endow  hospitals,  free  Hbraries,  and  build  all 
sorts  of  benevolent  institutions,  educate  poor  chil- 
dren, and  encourage  deserving  beggars  all  round, 
if  I  let  him  marry  Violet " 

"  Well !" 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  it,"  said  the  major,  very  em- 
phatically. "I  tell  you  plainly,  I  don't  like  it! 
There's  just  a  something  about  Nugent  that  I  don't 
quite  trust." 

Miss  Letty  looked  grave. 

"  If  you  really  feel  like  that,  Dick,"  she  began. 

"I  do  feel  like  it!"  and  the  major  squared  his 
shoulders  with  a  movement  of  resolution.  "  But 
I  don't  mean  to  make  myself  a  slave  to  personal 
prejudice.  And  I  have  not  refused  Nugent,  but 
I  have  said  that  he  must  wait  a  year." 

''  That's  exactly  what  I've  told  Violet,"  said  Miss 
Letty,  triumphantly. 

Desmond  looked  at  her  wistfully. 

"  There  you  are,  you  see !  Everything  proves 
as  plainly  as  possible  that  we  two  ought  to  have 
been  one,  Letty.  Our  wits  jump  together  by  mu- 
tual consent.  Well,  now,  I  have  told  this  golden- 
crusted  millionaire  that  I  cannot  permit  any  sort 
of  engagement  to  exist  between  him  and  my  young 
niece  for  twelve  months.  After  that  time  is  ended, 
if  both  he  and  she  are  of  the  same  mind,  I  will 
consent  to  an  engagement, — the  marriage  to  fol- 
lov/  in  six  months  afterwards.     He  was  very  loth 

2IO 


BOY. 

to  agree  to  these  terms;  but,  finally,  as  I  would 
hear  of  nothing  else,  he  consented.  And  what 
does  Violet  say?" 

"  She  is  willing  to  do  anything  you  wish,"  said 
Miss  Letty. 

"  Yes,  she  is  willing  to  do  anything  you  wish," 
echoed  a  soft  voice  behind  them. 

They  both  started  and  turned  round.  There 
stood  Violet,  just  returned  from  her  dance,  look- 
ing the  very  perfection  of  sweet  girlhood,  in  her 
simple  white  ball-dress,  with  a  knot  of  carnations 
on  her  bodice,  and  a  little  wisp  of  tulle  thrown 
over  her  head  and  shoulders.  Her  face  was  smiling, 
but  her  eyes  were  soft  and  serious,  and  as  soon  as 
she  saw  she  was  perceived,  she  came  forward  and 
knelt  down  with  a  pretty  grace  at  her  uncle's  feet. 

"  She  is  willing  to  do  anything  you  wish,"  she 
repeated.     "  Dearest  uncle,  you  know  I  am." 

The  old  major  patted  her  head  kindly. 

"  Yes,  child,  I  am  sure  you  are.  And  so  you 
have  been  playing  the  eavesdropper,  eh?  Now, 
who  brought  you  home  from  the  dance  just  now?" 

"  Max — Mr.  Nugent  did,"  answered  Violet, 
frankly ;  "  but  only  just  as  far  as  the  door.  I 
asked  him  to  come  in  and  see  Miss  Letty,  but  he 
wouldn't." 

"  Why  wouldn't  he?"   asked  the  major. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  and  Violet  gave  a  pretty 
gesture  of  deprecation;   "  I  think  he  was  shy." 

Desmond  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  Shy !     I  never  heard  that  of  Max  Nugent  be- 

211 


BOY. 

fore.  However,  love  works  wonders.  Well  now, 
Violet,  Miss  Leslie  and  I  have  been  talking  this 
matter  over,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  we  have  de- 
cided. \Yq  are  going  to  take  you  back  to  Eng- 
land for  a  year." 

Violet  rose  from  her  kneeling  attitude  at  her 
uncle's  side,  and  her  face  grew  wistful. 

"  To  England !" 

"Yes,  to  England.  Eh,  Letty?"  and  he  gave 
her  a  side  wink.  Miss  Letty  was  startled,  but  she 
did  not  show  it  outwardly.  She  merely  replied 
with  a  becoming  meekness, — 

"  Whatever  you  think  best  for  Violet,  Dick." 

"  Well,  I  think  that  best,"  said  Desmond,  firmly; 
"  and  to  England  we  will  go  as  soon  as  the  sum- 
mer is  over.  It's  July  now — we'll  give  you  August 
and  September  to  be  happy  in  your  own  way, 
Violet,  and  to  make  Mr.  Nugent  distinctly  un- 
derstand that  you  have  sufficient  breadth  and  firm- 
ness of  character  to  obey  those  who  feel  themselves 
responsible  in  a  way  for  your  future  life  and  happi- 
ness, and  that  you  mean  to  make  him  deserve  yoii 
by  patience  and  fidelity.     Do  you  understand?" 

"  Yes,  uncle.  I  quite  understand,"  said  Violet, 
gently. 

"  And  you  are  not  unhappy  about  it?" 

"  No,  uncle.  You  have  been  so  good  to  me, 
and  your  love  has  been  so  true  and  kind,  that  I 
cannot  doubt  your  knowing  and  doing  for  the  best. 
I  should  indeed  be  an  ungrateful  little  wretch  if 


212 


BOY. 

I  thought  otherwise.  I  shall  obey  you  absolutely, 
and  dear  Miss  Letty  too !" 

She  stooped  and  kissed  them  both  tenderly. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  cheerily.  "  I  have 
danced  nearly  all  the  evening.  I'm  tired,  and  I'm 
going  to  bed." 

"  Good-night,  little  one,  God  bless  you !"  said 
Miss  Letty,  fondly. 

"  God  bless  you,  darling  Miss  Letty !"  And 
with  another  kiss  and  smile,  Violet  entered  the 
house,  paused  on  the  threshold  for  a  moment  to 
wave  her  hand  once  more,  and  then  vanished. 

The  two  old  people  were  silent  for  some  min- 
utes after  she  had  gone.  The  glorious  moon  shed 
broad  halos  of  silvery  light  around  them,  and  in 
the  deep  silence  a  whisper  seemed  to  steal  upon  the 
heavily  perfumed  air  and  creep  into  both  their 
hearts,  saying,  "  You  two — you  both  were  young 
once,  and  now — do  you  not  think  you  have  wasted 
your  lives  for  a  dream's  sake?" 

But  though  they  were  conscious  of  this  subtle 
suggestion,  their  brave  souls  had  but  the  one  re- 
sponse to  it.  Miss  Letty  certainly  did  not  think 
her  life  was  wasted  because  she  had  been  faithful 
to  the  memory  of  her  first  love,  and  because  since 
his  death  she  had  done  what  she  could  to  make 
others,  instead  of  herself,  happy.  And  Dick  Des- 
mond, though  he  sometimes  did  feel  a  little  bit 
sore  about  having  had  to  sacrifice  a  sweet  wife  and 
cosy  home  for  the  memory,  as  he  always  said  to 


213 


BOY. 

himself,  "  of  a  dead  rascal,"  still  he  did  not  com- 
plain of  the  romantic  faith  that  had  kept  his  heart 
warm  all  these  years,  and  enabled  him  to  do  good 
wherever  he  could  in  his  own  particular  way.  So 
that  whisper  of  a  half  regret  passed  them  by  like 
the  merest  passing  shadow,  and  the  major  rose  up 
to  go,  squaring  his  shoulders  in  his  usual  fashion 
and  shaking  himself  like  a  big  retriever. 

"  I  think  I'm  right,  Letty,"  he  said,  with  a 
meaning  nod  towards  the  direction  in  which  Violet 
had  disappeared. 

"  You  are  always  right,  Dick,  I  am  sure,"  re- 
sponded Miss  Letty,  sweetly. 

The  major  took  up  his  broad  Panama  hat  and 
looked  into  its  crown  thoughtfully. 

"  You'll  be  ready  to  sail  the  first  week  in  Oc- 
tober, Letty?" 
"  Quite." 
"  Good-night." 
"  Good-night,  Dick." 

Whereupon  the  major  put  his  Panama  firmly 
on  his  head  and  walked  slowly  and  meditatively 
down  the  garden  and  out  of  it,  and  Miss  Letty 
put  by  the  chairs  on  the  verandah  and  shut  all  the 
drawing-room  windows.  As  she  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment by  her  work-table  to  put  one  or  two  trifles 
by,  her  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  on  the  pair  of 
little  worn  shoes  on  the  bracket  above,  and  the 
pensive  aspect  of  the  toy  cow  "  Dunny"  that  stood 
close  by  them,  and  that  seemed  to  be  steadfastly 


214 


BOY. 

regarding  their  shabby  toes  with  a  contemplative 
sadness  too  deep  for  even  a  movable  head  to  wag 
over. 

"  Poor  Boy !"  mused  Miss  Letty.     "  I  wonder 
where  he  is — and  what  he  is  like — now !" 


2IS 


CHAPTER    IX. 

The  summer  flew  by, — on  wings  of  romance 
for  Violet  Morrison,  but  somewhat  burdened  with 
anxiety  for  Major  Desmond  and  Miss  LesHe. 
Max  Nugent,  milhonaire  and  man  of  the  world, 
was  most  charming  in  his  manner  to  both  the 
elderly  people,  and  most  tender  and  deferential  in 
his  devotion  to  the  young  girl  in  their  charge,  but 
Major  Desmond  was  not  altogether  satisfied  about 
him.  He  wore  a  glass  in  his  eye,  for  one  thing. 
People  laughed  at  the  major  when  he  made  ob- 
jection to  such  a  trifle, — even  Miss  Letty  laughed. 
But  Desmond  was  obstinate. 

"  Well,  will  you  tell  me,"  he  demanded,  "  the 
practical  use  of  a  glass  in  one  eye?  It  can't  assist 
the  sight,  for  Nugent  always  reads  without  it. 
What's  it  for,  then  ?  To  look  at  the  scenery  ?  That 
won't  do,  for  the  man  always  clicks  it  out  of  his 
eye  whenever  he  glances  at  the  landscape.  There 
is  only  one  reason  for  his  wearing  it — and  that  is, 
to  conceal  his  true  expression." 

"  Now,  look  here,  Desmond,"  said  one  of  his 
club  friends,  "  you  really  are  going  too  far.  How 
the  deuce  can  an  eye-glass  conceal  expression?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  how" — and  the  major  proceeded 
to  demonstrate.  "  Suppose  you  succeed  in  train- 
ing one  eye  to  look  straight  while  you  told  a  cram- 

216 


BOY. 

mer,  and  you  can't  train  the  other?  Suppose  that 
other  eye  insists  on  shifting  about  and  bhnking 
as  the  He  pops  out  of  your  mouth?  Why,  then, 
clap  the  eye-glass  on,  and  there  you  are!" 

And  though  he  was  laughed  at  for  this  theory, 
he,  to  put  it  in  his  own  way,  "  stuck  to  his  guns." 

And  the  middle  of  October  saw  Miss  Letty  back 
in  England.  October  is  often  a  very  beautiful 
month  in  these  "  Happy  Isles,"  and  Miss  Letty 
was  not  sorry  to  see  the  old  country  once  again. 
Her  house  in  Hans  Place  was  still  occupied  by  her 
tenants,  whose  lease  did  not  expire  till  the  coming 
Christmas;  so  she  took  a  suite  of  rooms  in  one 
of  the  many  luxuriously  appointed  hotels  which 
nowadays  make  London  such  a  habitable  resort, 
and  fixed  this  as  her  head-quarters,  wdiile,  in  com- 
pliance with  Major  Desmond's  ideas,  she  took  Vio- 
let for  various  visits  to  some  of  the  grand  old 
country-seats  in  England.  For  both  she  and  Major 
Desmond  had  many  friends  among  the  best  of  the 
country  folks  who  had  beautiful  homes,  and  loved 
those  homes  with  a  love  which,  unfortunately,  is 
being  relegated  to  the  list  of  old-fashioned  virtues, 
and  Violet  had  plenty  of  chances  to  see  for  herself 
how  English  lives  were  lived,  and  what  English 
young  men  were  like.  But  the  girl  was  not  at- 
tracted by  any  of  the  jcuncssc  dovcc  of  her  native 
country.  Compared  with  the  courtesy  and  atten- 
tion she  had  received  from  the  sterner  sex  in 
America,  who  are  accustomed  to  treat  women  with 
the  greatest  honour  and  reverence,  she  found  the 

217 


BOY. 

English  young  men  brusque,  conceited,  and  often 
coarse  in  manner  and  conversation.  And  her  love 
for  the  polished  and  deferential  Max  Nugent  grew 
stronger  and  deeper,  and  all  the  graceful  fancies, 
hopes,  and  dreams  of  her  young  life  clustered 
around  him  as  the  one  inevitable  centre  of  her  ex- 
istence. And  the  "  eye-glass,"  to  which  her  uncle 
attached  such  grave  importance,  never  troubled  her 
thoughts  at  all,  except  to  move  her  to  a  smile  when 
she  thought  of  "  uncle's  fancy"  regarding  it.  And 
Miss  Letty  watched  her  as  a  mother  would  have 
watched  her,  and  noted  all  the  little  signs  of  this 
deep  first  love  absorbing  her  life  with  a  tenderness 
and  interest  which  were,  however,  not  without  a 
vague  touch  of  foreboding. 

Soon  after  their  return  to  England  there  came 
an  excitement  for  Miss  Letty  herself  in  the  shape 
of  a  letter  from  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir.  Miss  Letty 
had  written  to  announce  her  return,  but  had 
scarcely  expected  any  reply,  though  she  had  ven- 
tured to  express  the  hope  that  "  dear  Boy"  was 
quite  well.  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  now  wrote  as  fol- 
lows, dating  from  a  suburban  district  of  London. 

"  My  dear  Letitia  : — Your  letter  was  quite  a 
surprise  to  me,  as  I  thought  you  had  gone  to 
America  for  good.  I  had  a  funny  idea  that  you 
would  perhaps  get  married  there,  after  all,  for  one 
hears  of  so  many  elderly  women  marrying  nowa- 
days, that  there  really  seems  a  chance  for  every- 
body.    Boy  is  at  his  military  college  preparing  for 

218 


BOY. 

Sandhurst,  but  as  he  will  be  up  in  London  for  an 
exam,  next  week  I  have  told  him  to  go  and  see 
you.  I  thought  he  had  quite  forgotten  you,  but 
he  appears  to  remember  you  fairly  well.  Of  course, 
he  was  barely  ten  when  you  saw  him  last,  and  he 
is  now  sixteen,  almost  a  young  man,  as  you  will 
find.  He  is  very  tall,  and  /  think  good-looking, 
though  that  may  be  only  a  mother's  fondness.  Jim 
has  been  very  ill  lately,  a  touch  of  what  the  doctors 
call  hemiplegia,  brought  on,  of  course,  by  his  own 
recklessness.  I  have  to  nurse  him,  and  so  you  must 
excuse  me  if  I  do  not  make  a  formal  call  upon  you. 
I  have  had  to  make  many  sacrifices  in  order  to  keep 
Boy  at  college,  but  a  mother  never  grudges  what 
she  does  for  her  son.  Hoping  you  will  be  pleased 
to  see  Boy,  and  that  you  are  as  well  as  a  woman 
of  your  age  can  expect  to  be, 

"  Believe  me,  yours  very  sincerely, 

"  Amelia  D'Arcy-Muir.'' 

"  P.S. — Boy  will  call  and  see  you  on  Wednesday 
afternoon  next,  unless  you  write  to  say  that  the 
day  is  inconvenient." 

With  an  inward  delight  which  she  felt  was  fool- 
ish, yet  which  she  could  not  suppress.  Miss  Letty 
straightway  wrote  an  answer  to  this,  saying  that 
she  would  be  very  pleased  indeed  to  see  Boy  to 
luncheon  on  the  Wednesday  named,  and,  having 
despatched  this  missive,  she  called  Violet  and  told 
her  of  the  expected  visit  of  the  child,  now  grown 

219 


BOY. 

to  a  young  stripling  whom  she  had  loved  so 
fondly.     Violet  listened  with  attentive  sympathy. 

"  He  was  such  a  dear,  pretty  little  fellow,"  said 
Miss  Letty,  affectionately.  "  He  had  such  droll 
ways,  and  was  altogether  so  quaint  and  lovable." 

"  And  how  old  is  he  now?"  asked  Violet. 

"  He  is  sixteen, — yes,  of  course,  he  must  be  get- 
ting on  for  seventeen !"  said  Miss  Letty,  almost 
wonderingly.    "Dear  me!    How  the  time  flies !" 

"  Just  two  years  younger  than  I  am,"  said  Vio- 
let. ' 

"  Yes.  But  you  are  quite  a  woman — thinking  of 
getting  married,  too !  Well,  well !"  and  Miss  Letty 
heaved  a  little  sigh  of  resignation.  "  Howeyer, 
young  women  grow  older  much  more  quickly  than 
young  men,  and  I  daresay  Boy  is  quite  a  boy  still." 

"  I  hope  he  is, — for  your  sake,  my  own  Miss 
Letty,"  said  Violet,  tenderly.  "  I  shouldn't  like  you 
to  be  disappointed  in  him." 

Miss  Letty  looked  thoughtful. 

"  Of  course,  he  will  be  changed,"  she  said, — 
"  very  much  changed !  He  was  changed  even  when 
he  came  to  stay  with  me  in  Scotland,  and  he  was 
not  quite  ten  then.  He  seemed  to  me  much  sadder 
and  older  than  a  child  of  his  years  ought  to  have 
been.  But  he  has  had  a  long  time  of  study  at  a  very 
excellent  military  college  somewhere  down  in  the 
country,  and  I  daresay  that  the  training  there  has 
made  quite  a  little  man  of  him.  Poor  Boy !  Mar- 
garet will  tell  you  all  about  him  if  you  ask  her." 

And  Violet  did  ask  Margaret,  who  now,  grown 
220 


BOY. 

extremely  stout  and  jolly,  had  come  over  from 
her  home  in  Scotland  to  serve  her  beloved  Miss 
Letty  once  more.  The  trip  to  America  had  been 
too  much  for  the  w^orthy  vi^oman's  contemplation, 
and  when  her  mistress  had  gone  there  she  and  the 
respectable  butler,  Plimpton,  had  made  a  match 
of  it,  and  were  now  the  proprietors  of  a  small  but 
extremely  cosy  hotel  on  the  picturesque  shores 
of  Loch  Etive.  But  as  soon  as  she  heard  that 
Miss  Letty  had  returned  to  England  for  a  time, 
nothing  would  serve  but  that  she  must  come 
to  London  and  attend  upon  her  again, — an  idea 
which  entirely  met  with  her  husband's  approval. 
And  so  here  she  was,  established  in  the  hotel  in  a 
room  adjoining  Miss  Letty's,  wearing  a  smart 
white  apron,  and  sewing  away  as  if  she  had  never 
left  her  situation  at  all,  and  as  if  the  six  years 
of  her  married  life  that  had  intervened  were  noth- 
ing but  a  dream. 

"Do  I  remember  Master  Boy?"  she  said  now, 
as  Violet  asked  her  the  question.  "  I  should  think 
I  do,  indeed !  Just  the  bonniest  wee  lad !  And 
Miss  Letty  was  sair  fashed  about  him;  and  she 
would  have  given  her  best  of  all  in  the  world  to 
have  got  him  wi'  her,  and  adopted  him  as  her  own. 
Ah,  she's  a  grand  leddy !  What  a  wife  and  mither 
she  would  ha'  made  to  any  man  gude  enough  for 
her!" 

"And  she  loved  Boy  very  much  then?"  went 
on  Violet,  playing  abstractedly  with  a  gold  chain 


221 


BOY. 

she  always  wore,  on  which  Max  Nugent  had  hung 
a  heart  of  fine  rubies  and  diamonds. 

"Ay,  that  she  did !"  said  Margaret,  stitching 
away  at  the  frill  of  one  of  her  "  leddy's"  silken 
gowns, — "  and  she  loves  him  still  just  as  much, 
I'll  be  bound.  You  mark  my  words.  Miss  Violet; 
I'm  pretty  sure  the  dear  woman  hasna  done  wi' 
Master  Boy;"  and  she  nodded  her  head  and  pursed 
up  her  lips  mysteriously. 

"  You  think  he  will  want  Miss  Letty  to  help 
him  on  in  his  career,  perhaps?"    said  Violet. 

"  I  couldna  tell — I  canna  say,"  replied  Margaret. 
"  But  if  ever  a  lad  had  feckless  parents,  it's  this 
same  lad ;  and  if  ever  a  bairnie  had  a  bad  start  to 
begin  life  upon,  it's  this  same  bairnie.  You'll  tell 
me  what  you  think  of  him,  Miss  Violet,  after  ye've 
had  a  bit  look  at  him?" 

"  Oh,  if  he  knows  you  are  here,  he'll  want  to  see 
you  himself,  surely!"    said  the  girl. 

Margaret  looked  up  with  a  shrewd  smile  in  her 
kind  eyes. 

"Don't  ye  be  thinking  of  that,  Miss  Violet," 
she  said.  "  There  is  naebody  like  myself  for 
kennin'  how  soon  we're  forgotten  by  the  folks  we 
have  loved.  I  mind  me  when  I  used  to  put  Master 
Boy  to  bed ;  he  would  throw  his  wee  arms  round  me 
and  say,  '  I'll  never  forget  ye,  Margit,'  and  it  just 
pleased  me  for  a  while  to  believe  it.  But  when  I 
married  Plimpton,  I  sent  the  laddie  a  bit  o'  wed- 
ding-cake marked  '  from  Margit,'  and  never  a  word 
did  I  hear  o'  the  lad  or  the  cake  at  all.     And  I 

222 


BOY. 

was  a  fule  to  expect  it, — for,  ye  see,  when  he  was 
in  Scotland  wi'  us,  we  had  a  bit  few  of  his  old 
toys,  and  with  them  there  was  one  he  used  to  be 
amazing  fond  of " 


"  I  know!"  said  Violet,  quickly — "the  cow!" 

Margaret  laughed. 

"  Yes — just  the  cow !"  she  said,  "  the  wee, 
wise-looking  thing  you  see  ever  on  a  shelf  some- 
where near  Miss  Letty,  with  the  old  shoes  Master 
Boy  left  behind  him  when  he  first  stayed  with 
her.  Well,  when  he  came  to  Scotland,  he  didna 
care  for  the  puir  beastie  any  more;  and  that's  just 
how  it  is  wi'  me, — he's  just  as  indifferent  to  me 
as  he  is  to  the  toy  he  put  away  in  his  babyhood. 
That's  where  all  we  women  have  to  suffer,  Miss 
Violet ;  when  the  bairnies  we  ha'  loved  and  tended 
grow  up  to  be  men  and  women,  they  never  give 
us  more  thought  than  the  playthings  they  have  done 
with." 

Violet  heard,  and  went  away,  thinking  gravely 
of  many  things.  She  was  growing  a  little  more 
serious  and  wistful  in  her  manner;  the  difficulties 
and  disappointments  of  life  were  beginning  to  sug- 
gest themselves  to  her  young  spirit,  although 
vaguely  as  yet  and  dimly.  She  had  nothing  to 
complain  of  at  present  in  her  own  fortunes, — -ex- 
cept— except  that  Max  Nugent's  letters  were  all 
very  brief  and  scrappy.  She  would  have  liked 
longer  and  more  ardent  epistles  from  her  declared 
lover,  and  she  scolded  herself  for  this  wish,  which 
she  said  was  selfish,  because,  of  course,  with  all 

223 


BOY. 

his  great  responsibilities  of  wealth  he  must  have 
a  great  deal  to  do.  But  despite  her  struggle  with 
herself,  the  little  shadow  of  disappointment  hung 
like  a  faint  cloud  in  her  sky  and  made  her  par- 
ticularly sensitive  to  the  possible  griefs  of  others. 

"  It  must  be  so  hard  to  be  disappointed  in  per- 
sons you  love,"  she  thought, — "  to  find  that  they 
are  not  the  good  or  noble  beings  you  imagined 
them, — it  must  be  so  hard !  I  do  hope  Miss  Letty 
will  find  Boy  all  that  she  expects  him  to  be, — and 
more." 

The  anxiously  expected  Wednesday  came  at  last, 
and  Miss  Letty  ordered  a  charming  little  luncheon 
in  her  private  sitting-room,  and  decorated  the  table 
herself  with  the  loveliest  flowers  to  welcome  Boy. 
Violet,  with  instinctive  tact,  arranged  to  go  out 
that  morning  with  her  uncle,  and  not  to  return  till 
it  was  quite  the  luncheon  hour,  in  order  that  Miss 
Letty  might  have  the  first  meeting  with  her  young 
friend  alone.  The  dear  lady  was  in  a  great  flutter ; 
she  was  for  once  quite  fastidious  about  her  appear- 
ance, and  put  on  her  newest  gown, — a  soft,  silver- 
grey  silk,  trimmed  with  an  abundance  of  fine  old 
Irish  point  lace.  And  when  she  was  dressed,  it 
was  no  exaggeration  on  the  part  of  the  faithful 
Margaret  to  say  she  looked  "  quite  beautiful." 
With  her  sweet,  good  face,  and  soft  hair,  now 
snow-white,  raised  from  her  clear,  open  brow,  and 
that  indefinable  grace  of  perfect  breeding  which 
always  distinguished  her.  Miss  Letty  looked  much 
fairer  than  many  a  young  woman  in  the  pride  of 

224 


BOY. 

her  earliest  days.  And  when,  as  the  hour  grew 
nearer  for  Boy's  arrival,  a  little  pink  flush  coloured 
the  pale  transparency  of  her  cheeks,  she  had  such 
a  charm  about  her  as  would  certainly  have  made 
fresh  havoc  in  the  good  major's  warm  heart  had 
he  seen  her  just  at  that  moment.  There  was  an 
elaborate  Parisian  clock  in  the  sitting-room,  the 
pendulum  of  which  was  an  unpleasant-featured 
gilt  nymph  in  a  swing,  and  Miss  Letty  looked 
anxiously  at  the  ugly  and  inflexible  young  lady  as 
she  jerked  the  minutes  away  with  a  seemingly  in- 
finite tedium.  At  last  the  hotel  waiter  appeared 
with  the  brief  announcement, — 

"A  young  gentleman  to  see  you,  mum." 

Miss  Letty  advanced,  trembling,  as  a  slim  lad, 
geting  on  for  six  feet  in  height,  stumbled  over  the 
door-mat  and  entered  awkwardly. 

"  Boy!     I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again!" 

The  strippling  giggled  nervously. 

"  Yes — er,  how  d'you  do?"  he  stammered,  and 
he  sought  anxiously  about  for  a  place  to  put  his 
bowler  hat,  and  finally  set  it  carefully  down  on 
an  empty  flower-pot  and  began  to  stare  doubtfully 
at  the  ceiling.  But  Miss  Letty  was  not  disheart- 
ened by  these  signs  of  indifference. 

"  What  a  big  fellow  you  are !"  she  said,  tenderly, 
looking  at  him  with  eyes  that  were  almost  tearful. 
"  I  really  don't  think  I  should  have  known  you  if 
I  had  met  you  in  the  streets  by  chance." 

Boy  giggled  again. 


225 


BOY. 

"  N — o !  I  don't  suppose  you  would,"  he  said, 
"  Mother  said  you  wouldn't." 

"  Have  you  just  come  from  your  college?"  asked 
Miss  Letty,  her  heart  beginning  to  sink  a  little  as 
she  noticed  that  his  eyes  wandered  completely  away 
from  her  and  considered  the  wall-paper  more  at- 
tentively than  herself. 

"  Yes.  Some  fellows  came  up  for  the  exam. 
with  me.  Two  are  going  for  the  medical;  I've 
done  that." 

"  Oh !     And  have  you  passed  ?" 

''Oh,  yes!     I'm  all  right." 

Boy  smiled  foolishly,  scratched  his  chin,  and  sit- 
ting down  on  a  high  chair  measured  the  toes  of  his 
boots  carefully  together. 

"  What  exam,  are  you  going  up  for  now?"  asked 
Miss  Letty,  sitting  down  also,  and  realizing  with 
a  sudden  pang  that  he  was  not  in  the  least  moved 
to  any  atfectionate  outburst  by  seeing  her. 

"  Oh,  just  the  first  one  for  Sandhurst.  I  don't 
expect  I  shall  pass  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  it's  pretty  stiffish.  I  don't  care  much  if  I 
don't  pass.     There'll  be  another." 

Good  Miss  Letty  was  not  very  deeply  instructed 
on  the  subject  of  exams.,  so  she  changed  the  sub- 
ject. 

"  I've  been  a  long  time  away  in  America,  you 
know,"  she  said;   "  I  have  only  just  come  back." 

"  Yes,  so  I  heard." 

Miss  Letty  looked  steadfastly  at  him.  He  was 
226 


BOY. 

a  good-looking  lad,  thin  but  well  made,  and  deli- 
cately featured,  but  his  eyes  were  shifty  and 
avoided  hers. 

"  Do  you  remember  me  at  all,  Boy?"  she  asked, 
very  tenderly.     Boy  coloured  and  hesitated. 

"  I — I  think  I  do/'  he  said;  "  I  stayed  with  you 
in  Scotland." 

"  Yes.  And  you  used  to  play  with  a  little  boy 
named  Alister  McDonald, — do  you  ever  think  of 
him?" 

Boy  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know.     A  little,  round-faced  chap." 

Miss  Letty  went  on  patiently, — 

"  Do  you  remember  Major  Desmond?" 

"Yes— a  little." 

Miss  Letty  took  up  her  sewing.  She  required 
that  useful  embroidery  to  steady  her  trembling 
fingers. 

"  I  asked  you  when  we  were  in  Scotland  to  write 
to  me  sometimes,"  she  said,  gently,  "  and  you  said 
you  would.     Why  didn't  you?" 

"  I  did!"  burst  out  Boy  suddenly,  getting  very 
red,  and  remembering  the  old  injury  which  had 
rankled  far  more  deeply  in  his  soul  all  these  years 
than  any  remembrance  of  affection,  "  and  you 
never  answered!" 

Miss  Letty  laid  down  her  work  with  a  look  of 
surprise  and  indignation  darkening  her  gentle 
eyes. 

"  You  wrote  and  I  never  answered !"  she  re- 
peated.    "  My  dear  Boy,  there  must  be  some  mis- 

227 


BOY. 

take.  I  have  never  heard  a  word  from  you  since 
you  said  good-bye  to  me  in  Scotland." 

Boy's  cheeks  paled  as  suddenly  as  they  had 
reddened,  and  he  took  to  the  re-measuring  of  hi^ 
boot-toes. 

"  Mother  didn't  send  the  letter,"  he  said,  slowly; 
"  that's  how  it  was.  It  was  not  my  fault.  I  wrote 
to  you  before  I  went  to  school  in  France." 

Silence  fell  between  them.  Miss  Letty  had 
much  ado  to  keep  back  the  outward  expression  of 
her  wounded  feeling,  and  as  she  looked  at  the 
lad  and  began  to  notice  the  air  of  listless  indiffer- 
ence which  surrounded  him,  like  a  natural  atmos- 
phere exhaled  from  his  own  personality,  she  was 
conscious  of  a  great  bitterness  and  resentment  in 
her  own  mind.  After  a  little,  however,  she  man- 
aged to  control  herself,  and  said,  gently, — 

"  Can  you  recollect  what  it  was  you  wrote  to 
me  about?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Boy  answered  readily;  "  I  wrote  to 
tell  you  that  I  was  being  sent  to  a  school  in  France, 
and  asked  you  to  try  if  you  could  help  me  not  to 
go,  I  was  a  little  chap  and  did  not  like  it."  He 
paused  a  moment  and  reddened  at  the  recollection, 
then  smiled  sheepishly.     "  But  it  did  not  matter." 

Miss  Letty  thought  it  did  matter,  but  she  said 
nothing. 

"  I  went  to  France,"  continued  Boy.  "  It  was 
all  right." 

"Did  you  like  the  school  there?" 

228 


BOY. 

"  Oh,  it  was  fairly  decent,"  he  answered, 
briefly. 

At  that  moment  a  diversion  was  created  by  the 
entrance  of  Major  Desmond  and  his  niece.  Miss 
Letty  looked  a  little  wearied  and  wistful  as  she 
said, — 

"  Violet,  this  is  Boy.  Boy,  this  is  Major  Des- 
mond's niece,  who  has  been  with  me  in  America, 
Miss  Violet  Morrison." 

Boy  jerked  himself  up  out  of  his  chair,  glanced 
at  the  young  lady  shyly,  and  smiled  vaguely. 

"  Won't  you  shake  hands?"  said  Violet,  kindly. 

Boy  went  through  this  act  of  courtesy  with  a 
curiously  limp  ungraciousness,  the  major  staring 
at  him  the  while. 

"  He  has  grown  very  tall,  hasn't  he?"  said  Miss 
Letty,  with  a  little  sigh,  as  she  rang  the  bell  for 
luncheon  to  be  served. 

"  Tall !  I  should  think  so !"  replied  the  major. 
"  He's  grown  out  of  all  knowledge.  Well,  sir, 
how  are  you  ?" 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,"  answered  Boy,  without 
raising  his  eyes  from  their  study  of  the  carpet. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  remember  me  at  all,"  pur- 
sued the  major.     "  Do  you?" 

"  Y — yes !  you  took  me  to  Scotland  to  see  Miss 
Letty." 

As  he  uttered  her  name  thus,  "  Miss  Letty,"  a 

sudden  sparkle  came  into  his  eyes,  and  he  looked 

at  her  with  more  interest  than  he  had  yet  shown. 

Some  little  brain-cell  was  stirred  which  awakened 

229 


BOY. 

old  past  associations,  and  a  number  of  half-for- 
gotten memories  began  to  run  through  his  mind 
like  the  notes  which  form  the  cadence  of  a  song. 
"  It  was  always  like  this,"  he  considered, — "  beau- 
tiful rooms  and  beautiful  flowers;  and  she — she 
always  wore  beautiful  silks  and  lace  like  to-day; 
but  then,  as  mother  says,  she's  got  any  amount  of 
money." 

Just  then  the  waiter  entered  with  the  luncheon, 
and  they  all  sat  down  to  table,  Violet  glancing  at 
Boy  from  time  to  time  under  the  shadow  of  her 
long  eyelashes,  not  knowing  quite  what  to  make  of 
him. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  doing  with  yourself  now?" 
asked  the  major, — "going  up  for  Sandhurst?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Are  you  glad  you  are  going  to  be  a  soldier?" 

Boy  was  engaged  in  fastidiously  picking  one  or 
two  bones  out  of  the  small  piece  of  fish  which  had 
just  been  served  to  him,  and  he  replied  abstrac- 
tedly,— 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  it." 

"  Don't  mind  it !"  exclaimed  Desmond.  "  But 
— God  bless  my  soul! — don't  you  like  it?  Don't 
you  love  it?  Don't  you  think  it's  the  finest  thing 
a  young  chap  can  do, — to  learn  how  to  fight  for 
the  glory  of  his  country?" 

Boy  looked  quite  surprised  at  this  outburst. 
Then  it  seemed  to  dawn  upon  him  in  the  light  of 
a  joke,  for  he  sniggered. 


230 


BOY. 

"  Oh,  not  so  much  as  all  that,"  he  said,  and  fell 
to  carefully  considering  the  fishbones  again. 

The  major  gave  a  portentous  cough,  and  swal- 
lowed his  portion  of  fish  recklessly,  somewhat  as 
if  he  were  swallowing  a  big  "  D — n !"  by  way  of 
sauce  and  flavour  to  the  whole.  Violet  flushed 
and  paled  alternately;  she  was  feeling  worried  on 
behalf  of  Miss  Letty,  who  looked  nervous  and 
preoccupied. 

"  Would  you  have  preferred  some  other  profes- 
sion?" she  asked,  gently,  venturing  to  join  in  the 
conversation. 

"  I  never  thought  about  it,"  said  Boy,  eating  his 
fish,  now  that  it  was  picked  and  prepared  to  his 
particular  liking.  "  When  I  came  back  from 
France,  father  sent  me  just  where  he  chose — and 
— that's  how  it  is." 

"  Then  you  don't  really  care  about  it,  perhaps?'^ 
queried  Miss  Letty,  determined  to  get  something 
out  of  him  somehow  concerning  his  tastes  or  aver- 
sions,— "  you  don't  really  love  the  work  of  pre- 
paring for  the  army?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  any  of  the  fellows  care  much 
about  the  zuork,"  said  Boy,  carelessly.  "  You 
couldn't  expect  them  to  love  work.  You  see,  they 
do  just  what  their  fathers  and  mothers  want  them 
to  do.  Some  chaps  have  a  choice,  I  believe — but 
I  don't  know  any.  It's  no  good  saying  you  want 
to  be  one  thing  when  your  father  wants  you  to  be 
something  else." 

Major  Desmond  listened  attentively,  and  his 
231 


BOY. 

eyes,  twinkling  with  anger  a  moment  before,  soft- 
ened a  little. 

"What  did  you  want  to  be? — if  ever  you  did 
want  to  be  anything?"  he  asked. 

Boy  hesitated  and  shuffled  his  feet  under  the 
table.  Miss  Letty  looked  at  him  anxiously;  so 
did  Violet.  Catching  Miss  Letty's  loving  glance, 
he  took  courage. 

"  When  I  was  quite  a  small  chap  like,"  he  ex- 
plained stammeringly,  "  I  used  to  think  I  would 
be  an  explorer.  I  wanted  to  travel  a  long,  long 
way  off  to  strange  countries,  and  find  things  no- 
body had  ever  found." 

He  checked  himself  abruptly.  The  waiter  was 
handing  round  new  dishes  to  tempt  the  appetite, 
and  Boy  had  to  choose  between  "  vol-au-vent"  and 
"  cotelettes  d'agneau,  points  d'asperges." 

"  Well,"  said  the  major,  "  that  wasn't  a  bad 
idea.  There's  nothing  to  prevent  your  doing  that 
still.     A  soldier  can  be  an  explorer  as  well." 

"  Yes,  but  I  think  that  all  gets  knocked  out  of 
you  at  college,"  said  Boy,  beginning  to  gain  more 
confidence  as  he  talked.  "  You  see,  you  can't  be 
an  explorer  very  well  unless  you  can  get  some 
Government  to  commission  you  to  explore,  and 
find  you  all  the  money  and  the  rig-out.  And  when 
you're  an  officer  in  the  Army,  you've  got  to  obey 
orders,  and  go  where  you're  told, — not  where  you 
like." 

This  statement  was  unanswerable,  and  for  a 
few  minutes  the  little  party  of  four  at  luncheon 

232 


BOY. 

ate  *''  vol-au-vent"  and  "  cotelettes  d'agnean"  with- 
out much  recognition  of  the  delicacies  they  were 
supposed  to  be  enjoying.  Miss  Letty  had  cer- 
tainly lost  her  appetite.  But,  as  was  her  usual 
habit,  she  mentally  scolded  herself  for  allowing 
any  sense  of  hurt  or  disappointment  to  weigh  upon 
her  mind.  "  What  am  I  bothering  my  head 
about?"  she  thought.  "  The  boy  is  going  through 
the  usual  training  necessary  for  his  career,  and  is 
being  turned  out  just  like  other  boys."  But  there, 
though  she  did  not  admit  it  to  herself,  was  the 
chief  source  of  her  regret, — "  just  like  other  boys." 
That  was  the  pity  and  pain  of  it.  Ground  down 
into  the  same  educational  pattern,  crammed  with 
the  same  assorted  and  classified  facts,  trained  by 
the  same  martinet  rules  of  discipline,  without  any 
thought  taken  as  to  diversity  of  character  or  vary- 
ing quality  of  temperament,  Boy  was  being 
shaped,  like  a  jelly  in  a  cook's  mould,  to  the  re- 
quired size  and  type  of  the  military  automaton. 
There  would  be  no  room  left  for  the  expansion  of 
any  new  or  bold  form  of  disposition,  no  chance 
would  be  given  for  any  originality  of  ideas;  he 
was  destined  to  become  merely  one  of  a  set  of  army 
chess-men,  moving  in  strict  accordance  with  the 
rules  of  the  game, — rules,  not  only  of  the  game  of 
war,  but  of  the  game  of  life.  And  part  of  this 
game  of  life  with  latter-day  Englishmen  is  to 
check  all  natural  emotion,  kill  enthusiasm,  and  let 
all  the  wonders  of  the  world  and  the  events  of  time 
and  history  pass  by,  while  you  stand  in  the  place 

233 


BOY. 

where  fortune  or  circumstance  has  thrown  you, 
never  budging,  and  indifferent  to  all  things  but 
your  own  precious  and    (if  you  only  knew  it!) 
most    unimportant    and    ridiculously    opinionated 
self.      It   was   the  knowledge   of   this   system   of 
education    that    gave    Miss    Letty    the    uncom- 
fortable   little    ache    at   her    heart    as    she    noted 
Boy's    evident    listlessness    and    cynicism,    for    in 
the  sweet,  eminently  idealistic,  but  unpractical  way 
of  women  she  had  hoped  something  better  and 
higher  might  have  chanced  for  him.     She  watched 
him  as  he  ate  his  "  vol-au-vent," — which,  after  a 
slow  consideration,  causing  much  irritation  to  the 
vivacious  French  waiter  who  served  it  to  him,  he 
had  chosen  as  the  most  tempting  of  the  two  "  en- 
trees" oft'ered, — and  wondered  what  would  be  his 
ultimate  fate.     In  prospective  fancy  she  saw  him 
as  an  officer  on  half-pay,  like  his  father, — perhaps 
married  to  a  slovenly  woman,  like  his  mother, — 
and — who  could  tell? — finally  taking  to  the  same 
dissolute  courses  which  marked  the  daily  existence 
of  the  Honourable  Jim.    And  while  she  was  think- 
ing this  with  a  little  inward  shudder,  Violet  was 
endeavouring  to  "  draw  him  out"  on  some  other 
subject  than  the  way  in  which  he  considered  his 
career, — a  way  which  she  could  see  was  distinctly 
vexatious    to    both    her    uncle    and    Miss    Letty. 
Drawing  towards  her  one  of  the  graceful  clusters 
of  flowers  which  so  lavishly  decorated  the  table, 
she  said, — 

"  How    lovely    the    English    roses    are ! — much 
234 


BOY. 

sweeter  than  the  American.  Are  you  fond  of 
flowers  ?" 

This  with  a  bright  glance  at  Boy. 

"  I  don't  mind  them  much,"  he  rephed,  indif- 
ferentl}'. 

Violet  coloured  a  little  and  was  silent.  Her 
attempt  to  turn  the  conversation  into  a  lighter  and 
more  pleasant  vein  was  frustrated.  But  now  the 
major  spoke. 

"  You  don't  '  mind'  flowers !"  he  said.  "  Well, 
what  do  you  mind? — anything?" 

Boy  laughed. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  I  wish  you  did  know,"  said  the  major,  with 
impressive  mock-solemnity.  "  I  should  like  to  as- 
certain from  you  just  exactly  the  worth  of  things. 
I  am  sure  you  could  tell  me." 

Boy  took  this  quite  seriously. 

"  How?"  he  enquired. 

"  Well,  in  this  way.  You  are  learning  more  at 
your  college  than  I  learned  in  all  my  life.  When 
I  was  a  young  chap  drilling  for  the  army,  I  didn't 
know  anything  except  the  rough-and-tumble  glory 
of  it.  I  had  no  one  to  '  cram'  me, — I  passed  no 
*  exams.'  It's  all  altered,  you  see.  A  young  sub- 
altern knows  nearly  as  much  (on  paper)  as  his 
commanding  officer  nowadays.  That's  why  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  things." 

"  Don't,  Dick,"  remonstrated  Miss  Letty,  with 
a  faint  smile. 

"  '  Don't'  what  ? — don't  try  to  learn  any  more 
235 


BOY. 

than  I  know  at  my  age  ?  All  right ! — if  you  ask  me 
I  won't."  And  the  old  gentleman  gave  one  of  his 
hearty,  jolly  laughs.  "  Now,  for  goodness'  sake, 
Boy,  eat  some  pudding!" 

"  I  don't  care  for  pudding,  thanks,"  said  Boy, 
allowing  the  suggested  dainty  to  pass  him ;  "  I 
never  eat  sweets." 

"  God  bless  my  soul !"  ejaculated  the  major. 
"Here,  waiter,  pudding  for  me,  please! — I'm  a 
boy !  A  boy ! — by  Jove ! — I'm  a  child ! — this  young 
gentleman  has  so  far  outgrown  me  that  I'm  a  posi- 
tive baby !" 

Boy  looked  vaguely  surprised  at  the  major's  hi- 
larity over  this  trifle,  but  he  was  not  personally 
moved  by  it,  nor  did  he  accept  it  as  a  good-hu- 
moured satire  on  himself.  He  smiled,  and  sat, 
civilly  serene,  crumbling  a  bit  of  bread  on  the 
table,  and  when  the  luncheon  was  finished  every- 
one, even  Miss  Letty,  seemed  glad  that  an  excep- 
tionally embarrassing  meal  had  come  at  last  to  an 
end. 

After  it,  however,  there  was  nothing  more  to  be 
done.  Any  display  of  affection  towards  Boy  was 
rendered,  by  the  impassibility  of  the  lad  himself, 
out  of  place.  Miss  Letty  felt  that  she  could  not 
have  kissed  him  for  all  the  world  as  she  used  to 
do,  and  Violet  saw  that  it  would  be  a  hopeless  busi- 
ness to  try  and  remind  him  of  his  old  friend  Mar- 
garet who  had  tended  him  with  such  devoted  care 
in  bygone  days.  The  major,  in  his  strong  interest 
and  affection  for  Miss  Letty,  did  his  best  to  en- 

236 


BOY. 

liven  the  dull  atmosphere  and  to  coax  Boy  to  ex- 
press himself  with  freedom  and  fearlessness  and 
candour,  but  it  was  no  use.  There  was  a  piano  in 
the  room,  and  Violet,  who  had  a  very  sweet  and 
beautifully  trained  voice,  gave  them  a  pretty  old 
"  plantation"  song,  eliciting  from  Boy  the  remark 
that  he  "  had  not  heard  that  one  before."  Asked 
as  to  the  healtli  of  his  father  and  mother,  he  said 
they  were  both  "  all  right." 

"  I  thought  your  father  was  ill  ?"  said  Miss 
Letty. 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  you  mean  that  kind  of  illness.  He 
can't  move  one  of  his  legs,  but  he's  been  like  that 
a  good  while." 

Pressed  for  his  opinion  on  what  he  would  like 
best  in  the  world,  he  answered,  with  more  bright- 
ness than  he  had  yet  displayed, — 

"  Plenty  of  money." 

"  Why?"  asked  the  major. 

"  Well,  you  can  do  anything  with  it,  you  see. 
There's  a  fellow  in  our  college,  for  instance, — he's 
an  awfully  low  chap, — and  if  his  father  hadn't  got 
what  they  call  a  '  boom'  in  some  stock  or  other  he 
couldn't  have  got  in,  for  it's  supposed  to  be  a 
college  of  gentlemen's  sons  only,  and  his  father 
kept  a  fish-stall,  so  they  say.  And  he's  going  in 
for  the  army  now.  You  can  do  everything  with 
money." 

"  You  can't  buy  friends  with  it,"  said  the  major. 

"  Can't  you  ?    I  thought  you  always  could."  And 


22>7 


BOY. 

Boy  smiled,  the  smil®  of  the  superior  cynic  who 
knows  he  has  uttered  an  unpleasant  truth. 

The  major  was  taken  aback  for  a  moment,  but 
he  returned  to  the  charge. 

"  You  can  buy  social  friends,  no  doubt,"  he  said, 
"  but  not  true  ones." 

"  I  shouldn't  care  for  very  true  friends,"  said 
Boy,  calmly.  "  They  would  be  sure  to  interfere 
with  whatever  you  wanted  to  do." 

No  one  vouchsafed  a  comment  on  this  remark, 
and  Boy  went  on, — 

"  Mother  says  friends  are  always  prying  about 
and  bothering  you.  If  you  get  too  much  of  them 
like,  they  are  an  awful  nuisance." 

Still  no  observation  was  volunteered  by  either  of 
the  elderly  people  or  the  one  young  girl  who  sat 
listening  to  these  cutting  statements  from  a  lad  of 
sixteen. 

"  If  I  had  a  lot  of  money — heaps  and  heaps  of 
money,"  continued  Boy,  "  I  could  do  just  as  I  liked. 
I  could  leave  the  army,  go  travelling,  or  do  noth- 
ing but  just  amuse  myself,  which,  of  course,  would 
be  best  of  all." 

"You  think  so?"  said  the  major.  "Well,  you 
would  find  it  a  pretty  hard  task  to  amuse  yourself, 
if  you  had  no  fixed  occupation  and  no  friends. 
You'd  go  to  the  devil,  as  they  say,  in  double-quick 
time,  without  so  much  as  a  halt  by  the  way." 

Boy  laughed,  but  looked  incredulous. 

"  Work,"  pursued  the  major,  sententiously,  "  is 


238 


BOY. 

the  greatest  blessing  in  the  world.  If  a  man  has  no 
work  to  do,  he  should  find  some." 

"I  don't  see  how  that  is,"  said  Boy;  "people 
only  work  in  order  to  have  no  need  to  work." 

Miss  Letty  suddenly  rose  from  her  chair.  She 
was  looking  tired  and  pale. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  gently,  "  I  will  say  good- 
bye to  you  now,  Boy.  I  am  going  out  for  a  drive, 
— and  you — you  have  to  go  for  your  exam.,  haven't 
you?" 

"  Yes," — and  Boy  glanced  furtively  at  the  clock, 
— "  I've  got  to  be  there  by  three." 

"  Well,  it's  time  you  were  off,  then,"  said  the 
major,  somewhat  grufily.  "  I'll  walk  with  you 
part  of  the  way." 

Boy  scrambled  about  for  a  minute  or  two  in 
search  of  his  hat,  found  it,  and  stuck  it  on  his 
head. 

"  Good-bye!"  he  said,  nodding  at  Miss  Letty. 

"Take  your  hat  off,  sir!"  said  the  major, 
bluntly. 

Boy  looked  exceedingly  foolish,  and  blushed 
deeply  as  he  removed  the  offending  "  bowler." 
Miss  Letty  felt  sorry  for  him,  and  came  up  in  her 
own  gracious,  gentle  manner  to  pat  his  shoulder, 
and  to  press  a  little  knitted  silk  purse  into  his  hand. 
She  had  made  the  purse,  dear  soul,  herself,  with 
loving  thoughts  as  well  as  loving  fingers. 

"  Good-bye,  Boy !"  she  said,  rather  sadly,  "  This 
is  just  a  little  present, — you  can  buy  what  you  like 


239 


BOY. 

with  it.  I  hope  you  will  pass  your  exam.  If  you 
have  time  will  you  let  me  know?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Boy,  taking  the  purse  and  cram- 
ming it  into  his  pocket  without  a  look  or  a  smile 
or  a  "  thank-you,"  "  as  soon  as  I  know  myself. 
Good-bye !" 

"  Good-bye!"  said  Violet,  without  offering  her 
hand  this  time. 

''Good-bye!" 

The  major  clapped  on  his  hat. 

"  Come  along!"    he  said,  brusquely. 

Boy  looked  round, — at  the  ceiling,  at  the  walls, 
and  finally  at  Miss  Letty. 

"Good-bye!"    he  said  again. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  Boy !" 

The  door  opened — closed ;  he  was  gone,  follow- 
ing the  major,  who,  in  somewhat  irritated  haste, 
led  the  way. 

When  the  echo  of  their  footsteps  had  passed 
through  the  outer  passage  and  sunk  into  silence, 
Miss  Letty  sat  quietly  down  in  her  arm-chair  again. 
Half  mechanically  she  fingered  the  old  Irish  point 
lace  at  her  neck,  and  looked  at  the  soft  silken  folds 
of  her  "  best"  gown  that  swept  the  floor.  After 
all,  she  need  not  have  been  so  particular  about  her 
dress.  Boy  had  not  noticed  her  appearance  with 
any  visible  amount  of  affectionate  liking  or  obser- 
vation. 

Still  slowly  and  musingly  she  played  with  her 
delicate  lace  and  sighed  almost  unconsciously,  till 


240 


BOY. 

Violet,  after  sympathetically  watching  her  for  a 
few  minutes,  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"  My  own  Miss  Letty !"  she  said  fondly,  going 
up  to  her  chair  and  kneeling  down  beside  it. 
"  You  are  tired?" 

"A  little,  my  dear." 

"And — and  disappointed?"  murmured  Violet, 
timidly. 

Miss  Letty  paused  before  replying.  Then  she 
took  the  girl's  hand  in  her  own  and  patted  it  trem- 
blingly. 

"  Well,  I  won't  be  a  humbug  about  it,  child !" 
she  said,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  I  am  disappointed. 
Yes.     I  don't  know  why  I  should  be,  but  I  am." 

"  He  is  a  very  nice-looking  boy,"  said  Violet, 
soothingly.  "  It  is  only  his  manner  that  seems  so 
curt  and  ungracious.  But  all  English  boys  are 
like  that,  I  think,  and  he  is  at  an  awkward  age." 

Miss  Letty  shook  her  head. 

"  Yes,  that  may  be,"  she  said.  '*  But  it  is  not  his 
manner,  Violet,  it  is  his  heart, — that  is  what  frets 
me.  It  is  the  sweet  little  heart  of  the  child  I  loved 
so  much.  That  heart  is  gone,  Violet,  quite  gone ! 
There  is  something  withered  and  hard  in  its  place 
that  is  not  a  heart  at  all — the  heart  has  gone !" 

Violet  was  silent. 

"  The  heart  has  been  killed  in  him,"  went  on 
Miss  Letty,  regretfully,  "  it  has  been  crushed  out 
of  him.  There  is  no  warmth,  no  brightness  of 
feeling  in  that  starved  little  soul.     He  is  not  to 

i6  241 


BOY. 

blame.  It  is  the  fault  of  his  bringing-up.  I  am 
very  sorry  for  him — very!     Poor  Boy!" 

She  sat  quiet  for  a  few  minutes,  trying  to  con- 
trol the  little,  nervous  trembling  which,  like  a  cold 
ague,  now  and  then  shook  her  thin  and  delicate 
frame;    then  she  said  suddenly, — 

"  Violet,  do  you  know  I  feel  very  strangely 
about  Boy." 

"  Do  you,  my  own  Miss  Letty !"  and  Violet 
slipped  an  affectionate  arm  about  her.  "  What  do 
you  feel?" 

"  Well, — you  will  think  me  a  very  foolish  old 
woman  perhaps,  my  dear, — but  I  feel  that  Boy — 
the  Boy  I  loved — is  not  here  any  more.  He  is 
not  dead,  but  he  has  gone, — gone  in  some  way  that 
I  cannot  explain, — but  I  shall  meet  him  in  heaven. 
Yes,"  and  Miss  Letty  smiled,  "  I  shall  find  him 
again, — I  shall  find  the  little  fair  soul  of  the  child 
that  used  to  call  me  '  Kiss-Letty' — the  soul  that  is 
no  longer  here, — but — there!" 

She  raised  her  soft  blue  eyes,  radiant  with  love 
and  trust ;  and  Violet  looked  at  her  with  the  wor- 
ship of  a  devotee  for  a  shrined  saint.  Miss  Letty, 
presently  meeting  this  upturned,  adoring  gaze,  bent 
down  and  kissed  her  very  tenderly. 

''And  so,  dear  girl,"  she  continued,  "  we  will 
say  no  more  of  Boy  just  now.  Boy  is  put  away 
among  an  old  woman's  sentimental  memories.  The 
last  illusion  of  a  life,  my  dear! — the  last  illusion 
of  a  life!  Let  it  go, — back  to  God,  where  it  came 
from.  Because  He  will  restore  to  us  all  our  lost 
242 


BOY. 

beautiful  things,  and  teach  us  why  they  were  taken 
from  us  for  a  httle  while — only  for  a  little  while !" 

She  pressed  Violet's  hand, — then,  with  a  slight 
effort,  rose  from  her  chair  and  smiled  cheerfully. 

"  Put  your  things  on,  little  one,"  she  said,  "  We 
will  go  for  a  drive.  And  we  will  think  of  nothing 
except  just  how  to  make  ourselves  pleasant  and 
kind  to  everyone  for  the  passing  hour,  for  that  is 
as  much  a  duty  as  anything  else  in  this  world. 
Run  away! — dress  quickly!" 

Violet  kissed  her  and  ran  off. 

When  she  was  gone,  iMiss  Letty  stood  gazing 
into  vacancy,  with  a  strangely  wearied  expression. 
A  grey  shadow,  like  a  hint  of  death,  clouded  her 
sweet  old  face  for  the  first  time. 

"  Good-bye,  Boy !"  she  whispered  softly  to  the 
silence  .  .  .  "Good-bye,  dear  little  Boy!  God 
bless  you!" 


243 


CHAPTER    X. 

One  of  the  greatest  among  our  most  English 
of  English  poets  has  finely  expressed  the  melan- 
.  choly   transformation   which   one  brief   day   may 
make  in  human  destinies  thus : 

"  One  day  !  one  night  !  yet  what  a  change  they  bring  ! 
High  in  the  clouds  the  same  sweet  birds  may  sing, 
The  same  green  leaves  may  rustle  in  the  air, 
And  the  same  flowers  unfold  their  blossoms  fair, — 
Still  Nature  smile,  unchanged  in  all  her  plan. 
But,  oh,  what  change  may  blight  the  soul  of  man  ! 
The  sun  may  rise  as  brightly  as  before. 
But  many  a  heart  can  hail  its  beams  no  more  ; 
'Tis  but  one  turn  of  earth's  incessant  ball. 
Yet  in  that  space  what  myriad  hopes  may  fall  ! 
What  love  depart  !  what  friendship  melt  away  ! 
Ay,  Virtue's  self  may  wane  to  her  decay, 
Torn  from  her  throne,  heart-placed,  in  one  eventful  day  !" 

And  if  this  be  true, — as  it  is, — none  of  us  should 
be  surprised  at  the  changes  wrought  in  six  years. 
Yet  Major  Desmond  was  so  far  removed  from  the 
philosophy  of  indifferentism  as  to  be  more  than 
surprised  at  the  complete  metamorphosis  of 
"  young  D'Arcy-Muir,"  as  he  now  called  him  in 
his  own  mind,  instead  of  the  old,  familiar,  and 
endearing  name  of  "  Boy."  In  half-an-hour's 
walk  with  him  through  the  London  streets  the  ma- 
jor, who  had  seen  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men, 

244 


BOY. 

young  and  old, — lads  beginning  their  career,  and 
veterans  on  the  verge  of  finishing  it, — gauged  his 
disposition  and  temperament  pretty  correctly.  Two 
characteristics  were  particularly  marked  in  him 
which  did  not  augur  well  for  his  future.  One  was 
a  slighting  contempt  for  women, — the  result,  of 
course,  of  contact  with  his  mother's  shiftless, 
sloven,  useless  mode  of  life.  Her  inability  to 
awaken  either  admiration  or  respect  in  her  son's 
mind  was  a  seed  of  mischief  which  was  beginning 
to  bear  abundant  harvest.  The  other  dominating 
point  was  a  spirit  of  weariness,  listless  boredom, 
and  cynicism,  which  might  be  real  or  might  be 
afifected,  but  which,  whether  it  were  one  or  the 
other,  was  indescribably  irritating  to  a  man  of 
the  major's  frank  and  vigorous  type.  "  Nil  ad- 
mirari"  was  not  his  Gospel.  His  particular  habit 
of  life  was  to  consider  all  things  with  gratitude 
and  appreciation,  to  be  thankful  for  the  simple 
privilege  of  being  alive,  and  having  eyes  where- 
with to  see  the  many  varying  wonders  and  beau- 
ties of  the  world  which  Providence  had  ordained 
to  him  as  his  home.  But  it  may  be  remarked,  in 
passing,  that  this  is  unfortunately  not  the  "  habit" 
which  is  generally  encouraged  by  the  latter-day 
masters  of  schools  and  colleges  among  their  boys. 
They  make  much  of  the  difficulties  of  life,  but 
little  of  its  pleasures.  The  hardships  of  learning 
are  insisted  upon,  but  not  the  delights.  The  little, 
dry  pedagogues  who  undertake  the  high  and  re- 
sponsible  business   of    fostering   the   growth   and 

245 


BOY. 

guiding  the  education  of  young,  unspoilt  natures 
do  their  best,  as  a  rule,  to  cramp  and  destroy  all 
that  is  fresh  and  eager  and  enthusiastic.  A  young 
colt  gallops  about  in  the  meadows,  and  frisks  and 
rolls  on  the  soft  green  turf,  rejoicing  in  his  youth 
and  strength,  but  the  young  boy  must  take  his  col- 
lege "  sports"  as  he  takes  his  lessons, — by  rule 
and  line  and  with  more  or  less  severity,  under  the 
control  of  a  master.  Absolute  freedom  of  body 
and  soul,  or  what  may  be  called  pure  revelry  in  the 
mere  fact  of  life,  is  almost  unknown  to  the 
"  crammed"  modern  lad, — he  is  old  before  his 
time, — and  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  see  a  strip- 
ling of  fourteen  or  fifteen  quite  wrinkled  in  face, 
with  that  dull  film  in  his  eyes  which  used  to  be  the 
special  and  distinctive  sign  of  extreme  old  age. 
It  is  a  sad  pity! — for  youth  is  a  gracious  thing, 
and  life  is  full  of  beauty,  and  the  natural  joy,  the 
opulent  vivacity,  and  radiating  force  of  a  truly 
young  heart  are  the  most  cheerful  of  all  physical 
influences.  One  of  the  pagan  philosophers  asserts 
that  "  if  a  country  is  peopled  with  joyous  inhabi- 
tants,— that  is,  those  who  take  pleasure  in  inno- 
cent and  healthful  pastimes,  in  which  lads  and 
lasses  take  equal  part,  such  as  country  games,  vil- 
lage feasts  and  dances, — it  is  a  safe  and  good  coun- 
try to  live  in,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  the  people 
thereof  are  more  virtuous  than  vicious,  more  wise 
than  foolish;  but  if  things  are  in  such  a  condition 
that  the  youth  of  both  sexes  are  constrained  to 
dulness,  and  have  no  mirth  set  forth  for  them, 

246 


BOY. 

such  as  meadow  festivals  of  flowers,  and  harmless 
tripping  forth  together  to  the  sound  of  music, 
then  beware,  for  it  is  a  country  full  of  languors 
and  vapourish  discontents,  where  there  will  be 
seditions  and  troubles,  if  not  sooner,  then  late, 
and  men  will  agitate  with  those  who  labour  for 
excess  of  payment  rather  than  excess  of  toil,  while 
honesty  and  open  dealing  will  be  more  known  by 
memory  than  present  fact." 

And  if,  in  pagan  times,  they  could  so  consider 
the  merit  and  national  advantage  of  the  spirit  of 
joy,  how  much  more  ought  we,  in  our  Christian 
generation,  to  feel  that  we  cannot  do  too  much 
to  inculcate  that  happy  spirit  among  the  young, — 
we,  who  have  almost  "  touched"  immortality  in 
the  divine  teaching  of  Christ, — we,  who  know- 
there  is  no  death,  but  only  a  "  passing  on"  from 
joy  to  joy! 

Major  Desmond  was  one  of  those  few  remaining 
"  grand  old  men"  who,  without  any  cant  or  feigned 
excess  of  piety,  believed  humbly  and  devoutly  in 
the  holiness  and  saving  grace  of  the  Christian 
faith.  Both  as  a  man  and  a  soldier,  safe  at  home 
or  face  to  face  with  death  on  the  battle-field,  he 
had  guided  his  conduct  as  best  he  could  by  its  plain 
principles,  and  it  had,  as  he  himself  expressed  it, 
"  carried  him  through."  But  it  lay  too  close  to 
his  heart  for  him  to  willingly  make  it  a  subject  of 
conversation, — yet  while  he  talked  with  Boy,  or 
rather  while  he  elicited  certain  scrappy  monosyl- 
lables from  him  in  reply  to  his  own  easy  chat,  he 

247 


BOY. 

became  gradually  aware  that  the  lad  was  a  com- 
plete atheist, — that  he  had  no  idea  whatever  of 
God,  and  no  sense  of  the  proportion  and  balance 
existing  between  the  material  and  spiritual  side  of 
things.  The  deep,  hard  cynicism  which  showed 
itself  more  and  more  as  the  foundation  of  his  char- 
acter made  him  casual  and  flippant  even  in  his 
"  Yes,"  or  "  No,"  and  by-and-bye,  after  trying 
him  on  various  themes, — his  home,  his  studies,  his 
"  sports,"  his  interests  generally, — Desmond  in- 
stinctively realized  that  this  young  and  embittered 
scrap  of  humanity  was  sitting  in  cold  judgment  on 
himself,  and  relegating  him  to  the  level  of  a  gar- 
rulous old  man  who  did  not  know  what  he  was 
talking  about,  for  irreverence  to  age  is  one  of  the 
unadmirable  features  of  a  large  proportion  of  the 
rising  "  new"  generation.  As  soon  as  this  idea 
was  borne  in  upon  his  mind,  the  major  came  to  a 
sudden  halt. 

"  Well,  you're  nearly  where  you  want  to  be, 
aren't  you?"  he  demanded. 

Boy  looked  about  him.  They  were  at  the  cor- 
ner of  Trafalgar  Square. 

"  Yes.  It's  just  down  Northumberland  Ave- 
nue." 

"All  right!"  and  Desmond  glanced  at  his 
watch.  "  Five  minutes  to  three !  You'd  better 
look  sharp!     Good-bye!" 

"  Good-bye!"  said  Boy,  carelessly,  without  rais- 
ing his  cap,  and  in  another  moment  he  had  gone. 

Major  Desmond  paused  a  moment,  staring  after 
248 


BOY. 

him.  Then  he  shook  his  head.  Then  he  took  out 
his  cigar-case,  chose  a  cigar,  and  ht  it.  Then  he 
walked  slowly  and  thoughtfully  to  his  club,  where 
he  found  his  old  friend  "  Fitz,"  "  of  the  rueful 
countenance,"  in  a  favourite  arm-chair  near  the 
window  reading  the  paper. 

"Hullo!"  said  that  gentleman. 

"  Hullo!"  responded  the  major,  dismally. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  enquired  "Fitz." 
"  You  look  as  if  you  were  down  on  your  luck." 

"Do  I?"  and  Major  Desmond  threw  himself 
into  the  opposite  chair.  "  It  is  not  that.  Fve  had 
a  depressing  companion." 

"  Oh !"  said  Fitz.  "  Where  did  you  pick  him 
up?    Who  was  he?" 

"  Boy,"  said  the  major,  with  a  sort  of  grunt 
that  was  half  a  groan.  "  At  least,  not  Boy,  but 
the  young  chap  that  used  to  be  Boy." 

Fitz  raised  his  melancholy  blue  eyes  with  a  be- 
wildered expression. 

"  Do  you  mean  tlie  little  fellow  Miss  Leslie  was 
so  fond  of?" 

"  Yes.  It's  a  blow  to  her,  Fitz ! — I'm  sure  it 
must  be  a  blow  !" 

Fitz  was  puzzled,  and  grew  more  saturnine  of 
aspect  than  ever. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked.  "What's 
happened?  Has  he  got  anything  the  matter  with 
him?" 

"  He's  got  everything  the  matter  with  him !" 
said  the  major,  bursting  forth  into  hot  speech — 

249 


BOY. 

"  everything !  Callousness  is  the  matter  with  him 
— worldliness  is  the  matter  with  him — indifference 
to  afifection  is  the  matter  with  him, — d — n  it,  sir! 
general  priggishness  is  the  matter  with  him!  By 
Jove!  The  rascal  doesn't  seem  to  have  an  ounce 
of  real,  warm  blood  in  all  his  body!" 

The  thin,  stern  physiognomy  of  the  worthy  Cap- 
tain "  Fitz"  remained  unmoved,  except  for  the 
faintest  flickering  expression,  which  might  have 
been  satire,  grief,  surprise,  scorn,  or  humour, 
whichever  way  the  observer  chose  to  take  it. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  letting  the  ejaculation  escape  his 
lips  slowly,  as  though  it  were  a  puff  of  smoke. 

The  major  rolled  his  eyes  indignantly. 

"  Ah !"  he  repeated.     "  Is  that  all  you  can  say?" 

"  My  dear  chap,  what  do  you  want  me  to  say?" 
remonstrated  Fitz.     "  There's  nothing  to  be  said." 

"  That's  true,"  said  the  major,  and  relapsed  into 
silence.  But  not  for  long,  however.  Drawing  his 
cigar  out  of  his  mouth  after  an  interval  of  medita- 
tive smoking,  he  began  in  subdued  tones, — 

"  When  I  think  of  her,  Fitz, — you  know  who  I 
mean — Letty, — when  I  think  of  her  sweetness  and 
patience  and  goodness,  and  when  I  remember  all 
the  pretty,  tender  ways  she  had  with  that  little 
fellow, — and  when, — after  all  these  years,  he  came 
to  visit  her  to-day,  and  I  saw  her  looking  wist- 
fully at  him  to  see  if  he  had  the  smallest  pulse  of 
affection  beating  in  his  hard  young  heart  for  her, 
I  could  have  cried !  Yes,  I  could !  Fm  an  old 
fool,  of  course, — you  can  call  me  one  if  you  like 
250 


BOY. 

and  have  done  with  it.  But  that's  how  I  felt.  Of 
course,  years  have  gone  by, — he  was  a  child  when 
she  saw  him  last, — but  I  should  have  thought, — 
yes,  I  should  certainly  have  thought, — that  if  he 
had  any  recollections  of  his  childhood  at  all,  he 
would  at  least  have  remembered  her,  and  how  she 
loved  him." 

Whereupon  Fitz  roused  himself  to  utterance. 

"  There's  where  you  are  wrong,  Dick,"  he  said. 
"  You  have  made  the  same  fatal  mistake  we  all 
make  when  we  think  that  love — love  of  any  kind — 
will  last." 

The  major  looked  at  him  steadfastly,  but  did 
not  interrupt  him.  "  It's  the  same  thing  every- 
where. Men  and  women  fall  in  love,  swear  eternal 
fidelity,  and  by-and-bye  we  find  them  figuring  in 
the  divorce  court.  Other  men  and  women  resign 
themselves  gracefully  to  the  monotony  of  each 
other's  companionship  for  life,  and  God  sends  them 
children  to  cheer  up  the  dulness  a  little,  and  they 
think  those  chidren  are  perfect  paragons,  who  will 
grow  up  to  love  them  in  their  old  age.  Not  a  bit 
of  it !  Not  nowadays.  Old  folks  are  voted  a  bore, 
and  the  young  cub  of  the  present  day  may  often 
be  heard  declaring  that  the  '  Governor'  has  had 
*  too  long  an  innings'  and  '  doesn't  know  when  to 
die.'  As  for  Boy, — Miss  Letty's  pet  Boy, — from 
all  you  tell  me,  he  has  gone,  there's  only  a  young 
cub  left  now — a  cub  who  doesn't  care,  and  doesn't 
mean  to  care,  about  anything  or  anybody  but  him- 
self.    That's  the  supreme  result  of  modern  train- 

251 


BOY. 

ing, — it  is,  'pon  my  soul !  Boys  are  brought  up  in 
the  code  of  selfishness  from  the  very  beginning. 
Their  mothers  spoil  them  and  foster  all  their  bad 
points  instead  of  their  good  ones,  and  as  soon  as 
they  begin  to  go  about  in  the  world  a  lot  of  idiotic 
girls  and  women, — the  kind  of  women  who  must 
have  a  masculine  thing  to  pay  court  to  them, 
whether  he  be  a  raw  youth  or  a  seasoned  old  stager, 
get  hold  of  them  and  make  shameless  love  to  them. 
And  their  heads  are,  of  course,  turned  the  wrong 
way  round, — they  think  they  are  the  most  precious 
and  amazing  objects  in  all  creation, — and  instead 
of  paying  court  to  women,  and  learning  to  be 
chivalrous  and  reverential,  they  expect  to  be 
courted  themselves  and  admired,  as  if  they  were 
full-blown  heroes  from  the  classic  world  of  con- 
quest. That's  the  way  of  it.  Boy  has  no  doubt 
caught  the  fever  of  conceit.  He  probably  expected 
Miss  Letty  to  kneel  down  and  kiss  his  boot-ties." 

"  Part  of  your  argument  may  be  right,"  said  the 
major,  "  but  part  of  it  is  entirely  wrong.  You 
said  in  the  beginning  that  we  all  of  us  make  a  mis- 
take when  we  think  that  love — love  of  any  kind 
— will  last.     Did  you  not?" 

"  I  did,"  admitted  Fitz,  looking  slightly  shame- 
faced under  the  calm  stare  of  the  major's  eye. 

"  Well,  you  know  that's  d — d  nonsense !"  pur- 
sued the  major,  bluntly.  "  You  know  as  well  as 
I  do  that  I — I,  for  example, — have  loved  the  same 
woman  ever  since  I  was  thirty,  and  there's  no 
change  in  me  yet.     And  Letty, — Letty  has  loved 

252 


BOY. 

the  same  ne'er-do-well  all  her  life,  though  he's  a 
corpse  and  not  a  very  entire  one  by  this  time,  I 
should  say,  though  she  thinks,  God  bless  her !  that 
he's  a  sort  of  angel-king  on  a  throne  in  heaven — 
which  is  a  pleasing  and  pretty  picture  enough, 
only  it  doesn't  seem  to  quite  fit  Harry  Raikes. 
However,  there  you  are,  you  see, — love  does  last 
— when  it  is  love!" 

"  When  it  is — yes, — but  when  is  it?"  asked  Fitz, 
with  the  smile  which  so  beautifully  altered  his 
features  beginning  to  illumine  his  deep-set  eyes. 
"  You  see,  you  and  Miss  Leslie  are  old-fashioned. 
— that's  what  it  is.  You're  old-fashioned,  sir;" 
he  repeated,  getting  up  and  prodding  a  finger  into 
the  major's  waistcoat.  "  You  belong  to  the  last 
century,  like  one's  grandmother's  old  china.  You 
are  a  part  of  the  days  when,  if  a  married  woman 
entertained  a  score  of  lovers  apart  from  her  own 
husband,  she  was  considered  a  disgrace  to  her  sex. 
All  that  is  altered,  my  boy.  She  is  now  a  '  queen 
of  society' !  Ha  !  ha !  ha !  You  believe  in  God's 
blessing  on  true  love.  But,  my  dear  fellow,  the 
present  generation  doesn't  care  whether  there's  a 
God  to  bless  anything  or  not,  or  whether  love  is 
false  or  true.  It  isn't  love,  you  see.  It's  some- 
thing else.  Love  has  gone  out  with  the  tinder- 
boxes  and  stage-coaches.  It's  all  electricity  and 
motor-cars  now — flash  and  fizzle  through  life  at 
a  tearing  pace,  and  leave  a  bad  smell  behind  you ! 
Ha !  ha !  You're  old-fashioned,  Dick, — I  like  you 
for  it  because  I'm  a  bit  old-fashioned  myself, — 
253 


BOY. 

bnt  we're  out  of  it, — we're  old  stumps  of  trees 
that  can't  understand  the  rank  and  quickly  with- 
ering weeds  of  youth  that  are  growing  up  around 
us  to-day — weeds  that  are  going  to  choke  and 
poison  the  destinies  of  England  by-and-bye." 

The  major  got  up,  possibly  moved  thereto  by 
the  pressure  of  his  friend's  fingers  in  the  middle  of 
his  waistcoat. 

"  By  that  time  you  and  I  will  be  underground, 
Fitz,"  he  said,  half-lightly,  half-sadly,  "  and  thank 
God  for  it! — for  if  any  harm  comes  to  England, 
I  don't  want  to  be  alive  to  see  it.  I  wonder  if  I 
shall  be  sitting  on  a  gold  throne  in  heaven,  next 
to  Harry  Raikes?  If  so,  angel  Letty  will  have  to 
choose  between  us." 

He  laughed,  and  the  two  old  friends  presently 
left  the  club  together  and  went  for  an  afternoon 
stroll  through  Piccadilly  and  the  Park,  where  they 
saw  Miss  Letty  driving  in  her  victoria  with  pretty 
Violet  Morrison  by  her  side.  They  raised  their 
hats  to  both  ladies,  and  Fitz  commented  on  their 
looks. 

"  Nothing  will  ever  make  Miss  Letty  old,"  he 
said.  "  She  always  has  the  eyes  of  a  child  who 
trusts  both  God  and  man." 

The  major  nodded  approvingly. 

"  That's  very  well  said,  Fitz,  and  it's  true.  But 
she's  had  a  blow  to-day.  Fm  sure  she  has.  She 
doesn't  say  much, — she's  not  one  to  say  much; 
she  may  say  nothing,  even  to  me, — but  she's  had 
a  blow — Boy's  not  what  she  thought  he  would  be. 

254 


BOY. 

I've  got  a  bit  of  a  heartache  over  it.  I'm  sorry  we 
came  back  to  England." 

Fitz  was  silent.  He  fully  understood  and  par- 
ticipated in  his  old  friend's  feelings,  but  he  felt  that 
the  subject  was  too  sore  a  one  to  be  discussed,  and 
when  he  spoke  again  it  was  on  a  different  theme. 

That  evening  Major  Desmond  escorted  his  niece 
and  Miss  Letty  to  the  theatre,  and  just  before 
starting,  while  Violet  was  still  engaged  in  putting 
the  finishing  touches  to  her  pretty  evening  toilette, 
Miss  Letty  came  in  alone  to  the  major,  where  he 
pensively  waited  in  the  sitting-room,  and  said 
softly, — 

"Dick!" 

He  started  and  turned  round,  and  was  fairly 
taken  aback  for  the  moment  by  the  spiritual  beauty 
of  her  gentle  face  framed  in  its  snow-white  hair. 
She  was  fully  attired  for  the  theatre,  and  wore  an 
opera-mantle  of  some  silvery  neutral  tint,  show- 
ered with  lace;  and  a  pretty  flush  came  on  her 
cheeks  as  she  met  the  faithful,  tender  gaze  of  the 
man  who  had  loved  her  so  loyally  and  so  long. 
Having  expressed  his  admiration  of  her  charm  by 
a  look,  he  responded, — 

"Well,  Letty?" 

"  I  want  you,"  she  said,  laying  her  delicately 
gloved  hand  on  his  arm,  "  to  promise  me  one 
thing.     Will  you?" 

"Anything  and  everything  in  the  world !"  said 
the  major,  recklessly. 

"  It  is  only  just  this, — do  not  talk  to  me  at  all, 
255 


BOY. 

or  ask  me  what  I  feel,  about  Boy."  Her  voice  trem- 
bled a  little, — then  she  went  on  :  "  It  is  no  use ;  it  only 
makes  me  think  of  what  might  have  been  and  what 
is  not.  I  am  a  little  disappointed ;  but  then,  what 
of  that?  We  all  have  disappointments,  and  it  is 
no  use  brooding  upon  them.  We  only  make  our- 
selves and  others  miserable.  You  see,  I  loved  Boy 
as  a  child ; — he  is  not  a  child  now — he  is  getting 
to  be  a  young  man, — and — he  does  not  want  me, 
— it  is  not  natural  he  should  want  me.  Do  you 
understand." 

The  major  was  profoundly  moved,  but  he  only 
nodded  and  said, — 

"  Yes,  I  understand." 

"  He  is  just  a  college  lad  now,  like — like  all  the 
rest,"  went  on  Miss  Letty,  quietly,  "  and  it  was  my 
mistake  to  have  expected  him  to  be  in  any  way 
different.  He  will  no  doubt  turn  out  very  well 
and  be  a  good  soldier.  But" — and  she  suddenly 
looked  up  with  a  swift  glance  and  smile  that  went 
straight  to  the  major's  heart — "  he  is  Robert 
D'Arcy-Muir  now, — he  is  not  Boy !" 

The  major  said  not  a  word,  but  he  took  up  the 
little  gloved  hand  resting  on  his  arm  and  kissed  it. 
A  moment  afterwards  Violet  entered,  looking  like 
a  blush-rose  in  a  pretty  gown  of  pink  chiffon, 
and  the  two  elderly  folks,  welcoming  her  presence 
as  a  relief  from  emotion  and  embarrassment,  turned 
to  admire  her  sweet  and  fresh  appearance.  And 
then  they  went  to  the  theatre  and  enjoyed  "  David 
Garrick,"  and  the  subject  of  Boy  was  avoided 
256 


BOY. 

among  them  by  mutual  consent,  both  on  that  even- 
ing and  for  many  a  long  day  afterwards. 

But  he  was  not  forgotten.  Day  after  day,  night 
after  night.  Miss  Letty  thought  of  him  and  won- 
dered what  he  was  doing,  but  she  never  heard 
whether  he  had  passed  his  examination  or  not.  His 
mother  never  wrote,  and  he  himself  was  evidently 
unmindful  of  his  promise.  Major  Desmond,  how- 
ever, kept  his  eyes  and  ears  open  for  news  of  him, 
not  so  much  for  the  lad's  own  sake  as  for  Miss 
Letty's.  He  had  friends  at  Sandhurst,  and  to  them 
he  confided  his  wish  to  have  all  the  information 
they  could  get  concerning  "  young  D'Arcy-IMuir," 
if  he  should  eventually  go  there.  To  which  he  re- 
ceived the  reply  that  if  the  young  chap  did  get  to 
Sandhurst  at  all  they  would  let  him  know.  With 
this  he  had  to  be  satisfied,  knowing  that  it  would  be 
worse  than  useless  to  enquire  about  him  from  his 
parents,  the  Honourable  Jim  being  half  paralysed, 
and  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  being  incapable  of  giving  a 
straight  answer  at  any  time  to  a  straight  question. 

By-and-bye,  however,  the  attention  of  both 
Major  Desmond  and  Miss  Letty  began  to  be  en- 
tirely engrossed  by  a  new  cause  of  anxiety  and  per- 
plexity. Violet  was  looking  ill  and  getting  pale 
and  thin,  and  it  was  evident  she  was  unhappy.  Yet 
she  never  complained,  and  always  tried  to  be  cheer- 
ful, though  it  seemed  an  effort  to  her. 

"  Look  here,  Letty,  what  is  the  matter  with  the 
girl?"  asked  the  major,  bluntly,  one  day.  "  I  have 
17  257 


BOY. 

worried  her  to  tell  me  and  she  won't.  Does  she  tell 
yoiif" 

Miss  Letty's  kind  face  clouded,  and  her  eyes 
grew  very  sorrowful. 

"  No,  Dick,  she  has  not  actually  told  me,  but  I 
can  guess.  She  has  not  heard  from  Max  Nugent 
for  a  long  time, — his  letters  have  practically 
ceased." 

"  Ceased !"  repeated  the  major,  getting  very  red. 
"  What  do  you  mean,  Letty  ?    Ceased !" 

"  She  will  not  admit  it,"  continued  Miss  Letty. 
"  She  will  not  acknowledge,  even  to  herself,  that 
he  is  neglecting  her.  When  I  ask  her  if  she  has 
heard  from  him,  she  answers  me  all  in  a  nervous 
hurry,  and  assures  me  that  it  is  because  he  is  away 
travelling  somewhere  that  she  has  received  no  let- 
ters. She  says  he  has  no  time  to  write.  But  one 
would  think  that  if  he  loved  her  as  he  professed  to 
love  her,  he  would  certainly  find  time,  or  make  time, 
to  write." 

"  Of  course  he  would !"  said  the  major, 
brusquely.  "  There  is  no  power  on  earth  that  can 
hinder  a  man  from  writing  to  the  woman  he  loves. 
Even  if  he  were  ill  or  dying,  he  could  get  a  friend 
to  send  a  wire  for  him.  No,  no,  there  is  some  hum- 
bug going  on, — I  am  sure  of  it !"  He  took  one  or 
two  rapid  strides  up  and  down  the  room.  "  Letty," 
he  said,  stopping  abruptly  in  front  of  her,  "  when 
you  were  engaged  to  Harry  Raikes,  did  he  write  to 
you  often?" 

''  Not  as  often  as  I  should  have  liked,"  an- 
258 


BOY. 

swered  Miss  Letty,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  but  then, 
you  see,  he  was  in  India, — that  is  a  long  way  off, — 
and,  of  course,  he  could  not  possibly  write  by  every 
mail." 

"  Couldn't  he?"    And  the  major  gave  a  curious' 
grunt  of  incredulity.     "  Why  not?" 

"If  he  could,  he  would  have  done  so,"  said 
Miss  Letty,  gently  but  firmly.    "  I  am  sure  of  that." 

The  major  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  loy- 
ally battling  against  the  temptation  which  assailed 
him  to  tell  her  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth. 

"  You  never  doubted  him?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 

"  Doubted  him !"  And  Miss  Letty's  eyes  opened 
in  mild,  half-reproachful  amazement.  "Never! 
How  can  you  suggest  such  a  thing?  I  knew  how 
true  and  good  he  was,  and  how  much  he  loved  me, 
— and*  that  is  why  I  have  devoted  all  my  life  to  his 
memory." 

Up  and  down,  up  and  down,  once  more  strode 
the  major,  and  at  the  third  turn  the  temptation  was 
conquered  and  he  was  himself  again. 

"  Then,  according  to  your  experience,  Letty, 
Violet  ought  not  to  doubt  Max  Nugent  because  he 
has,  as  you  say,  practically  ceased  writing  to  her  ?" 

Miss  Letty  looked  puzzled. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she  an- 
swered. "  You  see,  they  are  not  engaged, — you 
would  not  consent  to  an  engagement  till  Mr.  Nu- 
gent had  proved  his  sincerity,  and  I  think  you  were 
wise;   but  as  matters  now  stand,  the  child  cannot 

259 


BOY. 

insist  on  his  writing  to  her.     She  has  no  hold  upon 
him,  save  that  of  his  professed  love  and  honour." 

"  That  ought  to  be  a  strong  hold,"  said  the 
major, — "  honour  especially.  No  man  has  a  right 
to  win  a  woman's  love  and  then  throw  it  away 
again.    I  must  speak  to  Violet." 

And  he  did.  He  called  unexpectedly  one  morn- 
ing to  take  her  to  a  Picture  Exhibition,  and  after 
sauntering  about  the  galleries  a  little  he  sat  down 
in  a  retired  corner  with  her  and  put  his  first  ques- 
tion very  gently. 

"  Violet,  when  did  you  last  hear  from  Nugent?" 

The  girl  coloured  hotly. 

"  Some  time  ago." 

"  How  long  ago?" 

"  I  forget,"  she  answered,  listlessly. 

Her  face  was  bent,  and  he  could  not  see  it  under 
the  shadow  of  her  hat. 

"Violet!" 

Slowly  she  raised  her  head,  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears.  The  major  smothered  an  oath  and  strove 
to  speak  calmly. 

"  Look  here,  child,  you  can  trust  me,  can't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  she  murmured,  inaudibly. 

"  Well,  don't  fret.  Be  a  brave  little  woman.  / 
will  see  to  this  for  you.  It  is  no  good  living  in  sus- 
pense.   Better  know  the  worst  at  once." 

Violet  furtively  dashed  away  her  teardrops  and 
looked  at  him  anxiously. 

"  The  worst?"  she  murmured. 
260 


BOY. 

The  major  squared  his  shoulders  resolutely. 

"  Look  here,  Violet,  when  we  have  to  swallow 
a  dose  of  bitter  medicine,  we  don't  like  it,  but  if  we 
are  told  it  will  save  our  lives,  we  do  it.  Now  in 
this  affair  of  Max  Nugent,  the  sooner  your  medi- 
cine is  swallowed  the  better.  I  am  afraid  the  man 
is  not  sincere.  What  do  you  yourself  think  about 
it?" 

Violet  sighed  deeply. 

"  I  do  not  understand  it,"  she  said  in  rather  a 
tremulous  voice.  "  I  have  written  to  him  several 
times,  but  have  had  no  reply.  You  may  as  well 
know  all.  The  last  letter  I  had  from  him  was  quite 
two  months  ago,  and  in  that  he  said  he  was  coming 
to  Europe  immediately, — to  Paris  first, — and  he 
promised  to  come  on  to  London  afterwards  and 
see  me." 

"  And  was  that  letter  exactly  what  you  expected 
it  to  be?"  asked  the  major,  looking  at  her  nar- 
rowly. "  Was  it  all  that  you  had  a  right  to  ex- 
pect?"' 

Violet  hesitated,  then  answered  truthfully, — 

"  No.    It  was  just  the  letter — of  a  friend." 

The  major  rose. 

"  Come  along  now,"  he  said.  "  I  will  see  into 
this  for  you.  A  millionaire  like  Nugent  can't  hide 
his  light  under  a  bushel.  I  will  find  out  where  he 
is,  and  see  him  myself,  if  I  have  to  cross  the  ocean 
to  do  it." 

Violet  looked  up  at  him  with  tearful  eyes. 

"  You  are  good  to  me,  uncle,"  she  said,  "  but — 
261 


BOY. 


you   know  —  if   he    does    not    care    for    me    any 


more- 


"  You  do  not  care  for  him !"  finished  the  major. 
"  That's  what  you  must  say,  and  that  is  what  you 
must  feel." 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  Ah,  you  may  shake  your  head,"  said  Des- 
mond, "  but  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  waste  your 
life  as  Miss  Letty  has  wasted  hers,  all  for  the  love 
of  a  rascal.  You  do  not  know  Letty's  history. 
I  do.  She  was  engaged  to  a  man  I  knew,  and 
when  he  was  out  in  India  well  away  from  her  he 
was  getting  ready  to  marry  some  one  else  and 
throw  her  over.  But  he  caught  fever  and  died — 
just  in  time.  Letty  never  knew  that  he  had  been 
false  to  her.  I  knew — but  I  never  told  her.  And 
I  never  mean  to  tell." 

Violet  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  caressingly. 

"Uncle!     And  you  loved  her  yourself!" 

"Now,  how  did  you  find  that  out?"  said  the 
major,  with  a  little  smile.  "  Well,  you  are  right, 
— I  have  loved  her  nearly  all  my  life.  And  we 
have  rubbed  on  pretty  well  as  friends  together, 
and  we  have  kept  the  momory  of  that  dead  rascal 
as  holy  as  if  he  were  a  saint.  So,  you  see,  I  know 
something  about  love  and  loyalty,  little  girl,  and 
I  can  enter  thoroughly  into  your  feelings.  But, 
fortunately,  you  are  very  young,  and  if  Nugent 
turns  out  a  failure  your  heart  will  be  sore  for  a 
while,  but  it  will  mend." 


262 


BOY. 

"  Never,  uncle !"  said  Violet.  "  I  can  never 
care  for  anyone  else." 

"Nonsense!"  said  the  major.  "You  must  not 
talk  like  that  at  nineteen.  This  is  your  first  love, 
I  grant,  but  one  gets  over  first  love,  like  the 
measles." 

"  Did  you  ?"  asked  Violet,  anxiously. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  Of  course  I  did.  When 
I  was  nineteen  I  fell  in  love  with  my  father's 
cook.  She  was  a  very  pretty  woman,  and  made 
jam  puffs  divinely.  She  married  the  grocer  round 
the  corner, — and  somehow  I  lived  through  it.  I 
was  nearly  thirty  when  I  found  Letty,  and  I  have 
loved  her  ever  since." 

Violet  pressed  his  arm,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Now  come  along,"  said  the  major,  cheerfully. 
"  Don't  worry  yourself,  thin  yourself,  or  lose  your 
looks.  Nobody  will  thank  you  for  that  except 
your  kind  female  friends.  We  will  clear  this  little 
matter  up  somehow.  And  I  am  sure  you  are  far 
too  high-spirited  and  straightforward  to  care  for 
a  man  who  turns  out  to  be  a  dishonourable  scamp, 
— though,  mind,  I  don't  say  he  is  dishonourable 
till  I  have  proved  it.  But  unless  he  has  been  kid- 
napped for  his  millions  by  brigands,  I  don't  see  any 
excuse  for  his  silence;  if  he  were  ill  he  could  send 
you  word, — so  there  is  only  one  inference  to  be 
drawn  from  his  conduct,  and  that  is,  that  he 
doesn't  mean  to  keep  his  promise  to  you.  It  is 
hard  for  you  to  look  at  it  in  that  light,  but  you 
must  try,  Violet — you  must  try.     If  he  does  turn 

263 


BOY. 

out  a  villain,  I  will  take  care  he  gets  a  jolly  good 
horse-whipping." 

Violet  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"Oh,  no,  uncle!" 

"  *  Oh,  no,  uncle!' — I  say  'Oh,  yes,  uncle!' 
Leave  this  to  me,  child.  There  are  too  many 
scamps  sneaking  about  in  society  embittering  and 
spoiling  the  lives  of  innocent  women,  and  a  few 
sound  thrashings  on  the  backs  of  such  fellows 
would  be  pure  joy  and  relief  to  the  feelings  of  the 
majority.  I  should  like  to  thrash  a  millionaire! 
especially  if  his  conduct  is  on  the  level  of  that  of 
a  play-actor,  who  is  the  worst  kind  of  unprincipled 
rogue  between  this  world  and  the  nearest  gal- 
lows." And  the  major  chuckled.  "  I  did  thrash 
one  of  those  painted  fellows  once,  and,  by  Jove! 
how  I  enjoyed  it !" 

Violet  looked  up  at  him  timidly,  with  a  faint 
smile. 

"  It  was  in  India,"  said  the  major,  his  eyes 
twinkling  and  his  cheeks  beginning  to  crease  up 
with  wrinkles  of  satisfaction  at  the  recollection. 
"  There  came  what  was  supposed  to  be  a  tip-top 
theatrical  company  to  the  place  where  we  were, 
and  among  the  players  there  was  a  thin,  white- 
faced  fellow  as  conceited  as  they  make  them,  who 
'  made  up'  to  look  a  king  or  a  villain,  whichever 
you  fancied,  though,  to  my  mind,  the  villain 
suited  his  style  of  beauty  best.  Well,  when  he 
was  off  the  stage  he  pretended  to  be  a  very  fine 
gentleman  indeed, — explained  that  he  had  taken 

264 


BOY. 

to  the  stage  as  a  freak,  that  his  mother  had  nearly 
broken  her  heart  over  it,  and  all  that  sort  of 
ancient  stock-in-trade  nonsense, — and  he  pushed 
himself  by  degrees  into  the  society  of  the  women, 
till  he  came  across  a  little  creature  who  was  fas- 
cinated by  his  artful  ways,  thought  him  a  budding 
'  genius,'  and  listened  to  his  long  stories  as  if  he 
were  an  angel  singing.  And  then  he  poured  out 
more  confidences;  he  told  her  how  he  had  in  an 
evil  hour  married  a  woman  he  could  not  love,  and 
that  she — the  little  creature  aforesaid — was  his 
own  true  mate,  and  all  that  kind  of  gibberish. 
Poor  little  soul! — she  believed  him,  and  was  for 
immolating  herself  on  the  altar  of  what  she  be- 
lieved to  be  an  '  ideal'  passion.  Only  there  hap- 
pened to  be  another  little  creature  round  to  whom 
he  had  told  the  self-same  tale,  and  she,  having 
more  spirit  in  her  than  the  first  one,  came  to  me 
and  told  me  all  about  it.  '  And  I  have  written  let- 
ters to  him !'  she  said,  stamping  her  little  foot  and 
flashing  her  pretty  eyes,  *  and  he  won't  give  them 
back,  the  coward !'  '  What  do  you  want  me  to  do, 
my  dear?'  I  said.  'Thrash  him!'  she  replied. 
And,  of  course,  I  did.  I  went  for  him  one  day 
when  he  was  tripping  gingerly  out  on  his  tip-toes 
from  the  place  where  he  put  his  rouge  and  false 
legs  on.  I  said,  '  Look  here,  Hamlet — King  Rich- 
ard— As  you  Like  It — or  whatever  you  are, — you 
are  a  scoundrel.  Make  yourself  into  all  the  people 
that  ever  blessed  or  disgraced  the  world,  you  are 
an  unprincipled  cad !     I   am  not   Hamlet,   thank 

265 


BOY. 

God!  I  am  a  British  officer,  and  though  you  are 
not  worth  kicking,  you  are  worth  whipping  for 
the  fun  of  it.  Now,  Hamlet,  look  out!'  He 
smiled  pallidly,  and  said  'Sir!' — but  the  rest  of 
his  sentence  was  lost.  I  forgot  what  happened 
afterwards,  till  I  saw  him  picked  up  by  two  coolies 
and  carried  off.  He  couldn't  act  for  some  time 
afterwards, — he  was  ill  with  a  kind  of  influenza! 
But  I  got  back  the  girl's  letters  for  her." 

The  major  laughed  heartily  over  this  reminis- 
cence, and  enjoyed  himself  very  much  for  several 
minutes,  till  he  noticed  the  pretty,  pensive  face  at 
his  side.  Then  he  scolded  himself  violently  and 
called  himself  a  brute  for  not  consideringf  her 
feelings  more  tenderly. 

"  Come,  come,  don't  be  down-hearted,  little 
woman,"  he  said,  kindly.  "  Take  a  bright  face  to 
Miss  Letty.  She  has  her  own  trouble  to  bear,  and 
I  can  see  she  frets  over  it,  too,  though  she  never 
mentions  it,  and  has  asked  me  not  to  talk  to  her 
about  it.  But  I  am  sure  she  had  set  a  good  many 
of  her  hopes  on  Boy." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  and  Violet's  quick  sympathy  showed 
itself  in  her  expressive  face.  "  I  know  how  dis- 
appointed she  was  in  him.  She  had  been  building 
up  an  ideal  Boy  who  did  not  exist." 

"  And  you  have  perhaps  been  building  up  an 
ideal  Max  who  does  not  exist,"  said  her  uncle, 
good-humouredly.  "  What  a  pity  it  is  that  all  the 
best  and  nicest  women  in  the  world  will  persist  in 
imagining  men  to  be  so  much  better  than  they  are ! 
266 


BOY. 

We  don't  deserve  it — we  always  fail  to  come  up  to 
the  required  standard." 

"  Not  always,"  said  Violet,  her  eyes  beaming 
on  him  affectionately.     "  You  never  fail." 

The  major  laughed. 

"  Oh,  don't  idealize  me,  for  heaven's  sake, 
child !"  he  said.  "  I  am  just  a  bluff  old  man  with  a 
highly  inflammable  temper  and  an  average  sense 
of  honour,  that's  all.  Now  try  and  put  your  sad 
thoughts  away  for  the  present,  and  take  Miss  Letty 
for  your  example, — you  can't  do  better.  Always 
bright,  always  patient,  always  brave,  she  takes 
everything  God  sends  her  in  the  same  equable 
spirit,  and  does  her  best  to  keep  a  cheerful  heart 
and  cheerful  face  through  everything." 

"  Yes,  but  remember,"  said  Violet,  tremulously, 
"  thanks  to  you,  she  has  never  known  that  her 
lover  was  false  to  her." 

The  major  was  taken  aback  by  this  pathetic  ob- 
servation, and  pulled  his  white  moustache  dis- 
mally. 

"  True ! — I  forgot.     She  has  never  known." 

He  gave  a  compassionate  side-glance  at  his 
niece,  and  said  no  more.  They  returned  to  the 
hotel  in  silence,  but  that  afternoon  Violet  had  a 
long,  quiet  chat  with  Miss  Letty  all  alone,  and  told 
her  frankly  all  the  extent  of  her  troubles,  doubts, 
and  fears.  After  this  her  heart  was  considerably 
relieved,  and  she  felt  more  resigned;  for  Miss 
Letty  was  the  wisest  and  tenderest  of  counsellors, 
and  out  of  the  store  of  her  life's  experience  she 

267 


BOY. 

was  able  to  bring  many  consolations  and  sugges- 
tions of  peace. 

But  the  storm  which  had  been  so  mysteriously 
gathering  over  Violet's  life  was  ready  to  break 
more  suddenly  and  heavily  than  either  of  her  kind 
guardians  knew,  and  scarcely  a  week  had  elapsed 
since  her  talk  with  her  Uncle  Desmond  at  the 
picture-galleries,  when  the  fashionable  worlds  of 
London,  Paris,  and  New  York  were  electrified  by 
what  was  set  forth  late  one  evening  in  bold  head- 
lines on  all  the  newspaper  placards  as  a  "  Great 
Society  Scandal."  Major  Desmond  heard  the 
news  first  at  his  club,  and,  promptly  clapping  on 
his  hat,  took  a  hansom,  and,  urging  its  driver  to 
his  utmost  speed,  dashed  through  the  streets  to 
Miss  Letty's  house  in  Hans  Place,  whither  she  had 
recently  returned  to  set  things  in  order  after  her 
vacating  tenants. 

"Where's  Violet?"  he  demanded,  as  he  burst 
into  the  drawing-room  and  startled  his  gentle  old 
friend  out  of  a  mild  little  doze  in  her  arm-chair. 
Miss  Letty  gazed  at  him  affrighted. 

"  My  dear  Dick,  what  is  the  matter?  Violet 
is  out.  She  has  gone  to  the  theatre  with  some 
friends." 

The  major  sank  into  the  nearest  chair  with  a 
groan. 

"Then  it's  all  up!"  he  said.  "She  will  hear 
everything  before  she  gets  home." 

Miss  Letty  gazed  at  him,  hopelessly  bewildered. 


268 


BOY. 

"  Hear  what  ?  You  alarm  me,  Dick !  Is  any- 
thing wrong?" 

And  she  trembled  from  head  to  foot  as  she  laid 
a  hand  pleadingly  on  his  arm.  He  looked  up  at 
her  and  saw  how  nervous  she  was,  and  how  her 
slight,  worn  old  frame  shook  with  the  agitation  she 
sought  to  repress,  and  he  at  once  cursed  himself  for 
his  impetuous  brusquerie. 

"  What  a  brute  I  am  to  frighten  you !"  he  said, 
getting  up  as  quickly  as  he  had  sat  down,  and 
taking  her  hand  tenderly  in  his  own.  "  Come  back 
to  your  chair,  Letty, — sit  down, — there  now ! — 
don't  tremble  so !  You  will  want  all  your  strength 
to  help  Violet,  poor  child  !  That  d — d  Nugent  has 
run  off  with  Lord  Wantyn's  wife,  the  low  rascal ! 
If  ever  I  get  hold  of  him  I  will " 

He  stopped,  silenced  by  a  gesture  from  Miss 
Letty's  trembling  hand. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Dick,"  she  said,  faintly.  "  I 
don't  quite  grasp  it.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
Max  Nugent,  the  man  who  professed  to  love  and 
asked  to  marry  our  little  innocent  Violet,  has  taken 
another  man's  wife  away  from  him?" 

The  major  nodded  violently. 

"  Yes,  it's  in  all  the  papers.  Wantyn's  wife, 
'  the  beautiful  Lady  Wantyn,"  as  the  feminine  asses 
of  the  fashion  papers  call  her.  He  has  taken  her 
— or  she  has  gone  with  him — one  is  as  bad  as 
t'other.  Anyhow,  they  are  off — sloped  from  Paris 
last  night,  reached  the  South  of  France  this  morn- 
ing,— Nugent's  yacht  was  waiting  for  him  at  Mar- 

269 


BOY. 

seilles, — and  they  are  away,  the  Lord  knows  where ! 
And  everybody  will  sympathize  with  the  miserable 
cad  because  he  is  a  millionaire.  I  tell  you  it  is 
in  all  the  papers,  and  one  penny-a-liner  has  already 
put  in  print  that  it  is  the  outcome  of  an  '  old  and 
romantic'  love  affair!  Old  and  romantic!  By 
Jove!  A  little  old  and  romantic  treatment  of  the 
right  sort  would  do  them  both  good, — a  few  of 
the  old  and  romantic  notions  which  put  a  bullet 
through  a  rascal's  head,  and  whipped  a  bad  wife 
at  the  cart's  tail !  That  would  be  the  proper  '  old 
and  romantic'  way  to  deal  with  them !" 

But  Miss  Letty  sat  very  still,  her  hands  clasped 
in  her  lap,  her  eyes  full  of  pain. 

"My  poor  Violet!"  she  murmured  at  last. 
"  Poor  little  girl!     Dick,  what  shall  we  do?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  major,  despairingly. 
"  I  came  here  post-haste  to  ask  you  to  keep  the 
newspapers  away  from  her  for  a  day  or  two;  but 
it's  no  use  now;  if  she  has  gone  to  the  theatre  she 
will  see  Nugent's  name  on  all  the  placards.  And 
if  she  does  by  chance  miss  it,  one  of  her  friends 
will  be  sure  to  see  it  and  tell  her." 

"  You  forget,  Dick,"  said  Miss  Letty,  "  that  no 
one  in  England  knows  of  Max  Nugent's  connection 
with  her,  and  only  two  or  three  in  America.  That 
is  very  fortunate ! — how  wise  you  were  in  not 
allowing  any  engagement  to  take  place !  You  have 
saved  Violet  much  indignity.  It  is  true  the  poor 
child  will  have  to  bear  her  trouble  alone,  but  I 


270 


BOY. 

think  that  is  better  than  if  she  had  to  endure  the 
possibly  contemptuous  pity  of  her  friends." 

"  Yes,  that's  true,"  said  the  major.  ''  There 
would  be  no  real  sympathy  whatever  for  her, — 
all  the  feeling  in  our  latter-day  social  sets  goes 
out  to  the  money-bags.  Nugent's  a  villain,  but 
he  will  be  turned  into  a  hero  by  the  time  Wantyn 
gets  his  divorce.  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  never  liked 
that  glass  in  his  eye?" 

Miss  Letty  could  not  smile.  She  was  thinking 
of  Violet.     She  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"  Violet  will  soon  be  coming  back,"  she  said. 
"  Poor,  poor  Violet !  I  dread  seeing  her  face.  I 
think  I  should  have  died  if  my  Harry  had  been 
false  to  me." 

The  major  was  here  afiflicted  with  a  violent 
cough  which  kept  him  barking  hoarsely  for  some 
minutes. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Miss  Letty,  solicitously  watch- 
ing him  as  he  got  redder  and  redder  in  the  face 
and  kept  on  coughing.  "I  am  afraid  you  have 
caught  cold,  Dick.  Did  you  have  your  overcoat 
on  when  you  came  just  now?" 

"  Yes,  I  had  everything  on,"  said  the  major,  still 
struggling  with  the  strange  obstruction  in  his 
throat, — "  everything  that  was  necessary."  Here 
he  suddenly  recovered  himself  and  relapsed  into 
calm.     "  When  do  you  think  Violet  will  be  back?" 

"  She  cannot  be  later  than  eleven  or  half-past," 
replied  Miss  Letty.     "  But  we  must  be  very  care- 
ful.    She  may  not  have  seen  the  news  as  yet, 
271 


BOY. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  hope  of  that,"  said 
Desmond,  bitterly.  "  It  is  all  over  the  place.  You 
know  what  these  wretched  papers  are, — anything 
to  sell  their  copies.  A  scandal  is  treated  to  the 
biggest  head-lines,  just  as  the  dress  of  a  stage 
woman  gets  more  notice  than  the  death  of  a  great 
man.     Oh,  she's  seen  it,  you  may  be  sure !" 

Miss  Letty  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands 
nervously. 

"  We  must  be  brave,  Dick,"  she  murmured. 
"  We  must  not  let  her  see  us  break  down — we 
must  not  pity  her  too  much " 

"  Pity  her !"  ejaculated  the  major.  "  I  feel 
more  like  congratulating  her  on  a  narrow  escape 
from  getting  a  bad  husband.  Only  it  won't  do  to 
put  it  that  way.     She  might  think  it  unkind " 

"Hush!"  said  Miss  Letty,  lifting  a  warning 
finger  and  growing  very  pale,  as  the  wheels  of  a 
carriage  came  to  a  stop  outside, — "  there  she  is !" 

The  major  held  his  breath,  listening.  Violet's 
clear  young  voice  could  be  heard  distinctly  say- 
ing "  Good-night !  Thanks  for  a  delightful  even- 
ing." 

The  major  turned  his  eyes  round  amazedly  on 
Miss  Letty. 

"  '  A  delightful  evening !'  She  cannot  have 
heard " 

The  door-bell  rang,  and  to  the  two  elder  people 
who  were  in  such  suspense  its  peal  seemed  to 
waken  loud  and  discordant  echoes  through  the 
house,  suggestive  of  everything  horrible.     Another 

272 


BOY. 

minute,  and  Violet  entered,  looking  no  longer 
merely  pretty,  but  radiantly  beautiful.  Her  eyes 
were  dark  and  brilliant,  her  cheeks  were  flushed; 
she  held  her  little  head  up  like  a  queen,  and  her 
light  step  as  she  advanced  was  almost  regal  in- its 
pride  and  grace. 

"  Uncle  Desmond !"  she  exclaimed,  smiling. 
"You  here!" 

The  major  instinctively  scrambled  up  out  of  his 
chair  and  reverentially  stared  at  the  dazzling  crea- 
ture who  seemed  to  be  suddenly  transformed  from 
a  mere  slip  of  a  girl  into  an  exquisite  woman. 

"  Yes — I  am  here,"  he  stammered. 

Violet  loosened  her  cloak,  threw  it  aside,  and 
put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  kissed  him,  still 
smiling  into  his  eyes  with  such  a  straight,  sweet 
look  that  he  was  quite  bewildered.  Then  she 
dropped  on  her  knees  by  Miss  Letty's  chair,  and 
raised  her  fair  young  face  to  the  equally  fair  old 
one  bending  so  anxiously  over  her. 

"Darling  Miss  Letty!"  she  said.  "  Why  did 
you  sit  up  for  me?  You  must  be  tired.  My  own 
Miss  Letty!  And  Uncle  Desmond  coming  here 
so  late,  too!" 

They  glanced  at  one  another,  silent  and  sorely 
puzzled.  Did  she  know?  Or  did  she  not  know? 
What  was  it  that  made  her  so  unusually  royal  and 
proud  in  her  bearing?  Still  kneeling  by  Miss 
Letty,  she  looked  up  at  the  perplexed  major  with 
that  new  and  wonderful  brilliancy  in  her  eyes  which 

i8  273 


BOY. 

seemed  to  be  the  reflection  of  a  strong  soul-flame 
within,  and  said, — 

"  Dearest  uncle,  don't  be  unhappy  about  me.  I 
know  what  brought  you  here  to-night — I  know 
everything !" 

"  You  do,  Violet?"  murmured  Miss  Letty,  catch- 
ing the  girl's  hand  in  hers.  "Are  you  sure  you 
do?" 

"Am  I  sure?"  And  Violet  sprang  up  from  her 
kneeling  position,  and  stood  with  her  fair  head 
thrown  back  and  her  whole  face  expressing  a  grand 
disdain.  "  Indeed  I  am !  I  am  sure  that  the  man 
I  thought  a  gentleman  is  beneath  contempt!  I 
am  sure  that  the  love  I  bore  him  for  what  I  thought 
his  goodness,  his  chivalry,  his  honour,  was  the  love 
for  a  fancied  being  of  my  own  heart  who  did  not 
exist!  I  am  sure  that  I  do  not,  and  could  not, 
love  a  man  who  has  deliberately  disgraced  himself 
and  ruined  the  honour  of  a  woman !  I  am  sure — 
yes — that  if  I  meet  Max  Nugent  now  I  would  pass 
him  by  as  beneath  the  notice  of  an  honest  girl !  I 
mean  it !"  continued  Violet,  her  eyes  glowing  more 
brilliantly  than  ever  with  the  intensity  of  her 
thought, — "  yes ! — for  though  I  am  only  a  girl,  I 
have  never  done  any  harm  to  anyone  that  I  know 
of,  nor  would  I  hurt  anyone  by  so  much  as  a  word 
if  I  could  help  it — and  so  far,  at  least,  I  am  above 
this  millionaire,  who  has  made  himself  too  mean 
for  even  a  man  to  know !" 

The  major  brought  his  hand  down  with  a  vigour- 
ous  slap  on  the  table  near  which  he  stood. 

274 


BOY. 

"  There  spoke  Jack  Morrison's  girl !"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Blood  will  out, — you  have  got  your 
father's  mettle  in  you !  Bravo !  Let  the  fellow  go 
to  the  dogs  in  his  own  way  and  be  d — d  to  him ! — 
excuse  me " 

"  Wait,  uncle,"  said  Violet,  looking  at  Miss 
Letty's  pained  and  anxious  face  with  great  ten- 
derness in  her  eyes ;  "  you  must  not  think  I  don't 
suffer.  I  do !  When  I  saw  that  horrible  news  to- 
night— when  I  heard  people  talking  of  it — I  felt 
like  killing  myself!  Yes!" — for  Miss  Letty  ut- 
tered a  piteous  exclamation, — "  yes,  dear  Miss 
Letty,  you  must  not  think  I  don't  feel.  I  feel — 
cruelly!"  Her  lips  trembled — her  voice  shook. 
"  But  you  have  both  been  so  good  to  me — you 
have  taken  such  care  of  me — that  I  should  be  a 
wicked,  ungrateful  girl  if  I  thought  of  myself 
only.  I  think  of  you,  dear,  kind  Uncle  Desmond! 
— darling,  sweet  Miss  Letty! — and  I  will  try  to 
bear  it  bravely,  I  will,  indeed ! — I  am  trying  now. 
Don't  you  see  I  am?  My  heart  is  wounded — and 
the  wound  hurts — yes,  it  hurts !  But  I  will  try — 
I  will  try  hard — that  the  pain  may  make  me  bet- 
ter!" 

And  here,  her  pride  breaking  down  entirely,  she 
fell  again  on  her  knees  beside  Miss  Letty  and 
buried  her  head  in  her  lap,  sobbing  bitterly. 
Quietly  Miss  Letty  laid  her  two  hands  over  the 
soft  hair,  stroking  it  gently,  and,  controlling  her 
own  tears,  she  made  a  gentle  sign  to  the  stricken 
major  to  go.    With  a  mute  glance  of  farewell  ten- 

275 


BOY. 

derness,  that  gallant  officer  stole  out  of  the  room  on 
tip-toe,  and,  pausing  in  the  hall  outside,  wiped  his 
eyes  and  blew  his  nose  guardedly  lest  he  should 
make  too  much  noise. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !"  he  ejaculated.  "  These 
women  beat  everything!  Break  their  hearts,  and 
they  say  the  pain  shall  make  them  better !  'Pon  my 
soul ! — What  brutes  we  men  are — what  revolting, 
dirty,  selfish,  down-right  brutes !  We  don't  de- 
serve ever  to  have  had  mothers.  Here,  let  me  get 
out  of  this!" 

And  opening  the  street  door  gingerly,  he  closed 
it  as  gingerly  after  him,  and  stood  for  a  moment 
in  the  street  with  the  guilty  air  of  a  burglar  who 
had  just  abstracted  some  valuable  plate.  And 
again  he  blew  his  nose — with  greater  freedom  and 
vigour  this  time. 

"  Poor  little  girl !"  he  murmured.  "  Poor  little 
Violet !  Only  nineteen ! — and  faces  the  music  like 
an  old  warrior  of  a  hundred  battles!  Brave  child 
— brave  child!  And,  by  Jove!  what  a  beauty 
she's  growing!  A  positive  beauty!  Never  no- 
ticed it  till  to-night,  'pon  my  soul !" 

And  a  couple  of  lines  suddenly  came  into  his 
head  as  it  seemed  from  nowhere, — lines  he  re- 
membered vaguely,  as  having  heard  when  quite  a 
lad: 

' ' This  is  truth  the  poet  sings, 

That  a  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  is  remembering  happier 
things." 

276 


BOY. 

"  That's  it!"  he  said.  "  That's  what's  the  mat- 
ter with  her.  She  is  crowned  with  that  crown — 
poor  httle  Violet! — And,  by  Jove!  she  wears  it 
royally!  And  she  will  rule  her  sorrow  and  con- 
quer it  with  a  fine  strength  and  firm  spirit, — and 
she  will  be  a  queen  among  women  yet ! — my  little, 
broken-hearted  girl." 

And  he  wafted  a  kiss  back  to  the  windows  of 
Miss  Letty's  house  as  he  pulled  his  hat  over  his 
eyes  and  walked  away. 


277 


CHAPTER    XL 

After  a  storm  comes  a  calm,  and  the  old  prov- 
erbs which  tell  us  that  the  longest  lane  must  have 
a  turning  and  the  darkest  cloud  a  silver  lining  are 
not  without  something  of  a  cheery  note  in  their 
constant  reiteration,  like  the  repeated  warble  of  a 
thrush  telling  us  of  the  certainty  of  spring.  And 
Violet  Morrison  soon  began  to  prove  these  old- 
fashioned  truths  for  herself,  though  the  sudden  and 
ruthless  destruction  of  her  first  love-dream  had 
cast  a  shadow  over  the  bright  opening  of  her  life, 
and  had  made  her  graver  and  more  thoughtful 
than  her  youth  and  beauty  warranted.  Her  trou- 
bles were  none  the  less  hard  to  bear  when  the  re- 
calcitrant Max  Nugent,  weary  of  his  connection 
with  Lady  Wantyn,  promptly  severed  it  as  soon  as 
her  husband  divorced  that  famous  "  beauty,"  and 
sought  to  make  his  peace  with  the  innocent  girl 
whom  he  had  so  deeply  wronged.  Again  and  again 
he  wrote  to  her  and  implored  her  to  forgive  him 
and  to  marry  him,  but  she  answered  none  of  his  let- 
ters. The  first  faith  and  devotion  of  her  heart  were 
killed,  and  she  knew  she  could  never  trust  him ;  but 
he  very  persistently  urged  a  renewal  of  his  atten- 
tions in  spite  of  the  curt  return  of  his  letters 
through  the  major's  hands,  and  she  was,  therefore, 
very  glad  when  her  uncle  and  Miss  Letty  decided 
to  take  her  abroad  for  a  time  on  a  tour  through 

278 


BOY. 

France,  Italy,  and  Spain,  as  this  gave  her  freedom 
and  an  escape  from  the  constant  pleading  of  her 
former  lover.  The  interest  in  new  countries  and 
the  constant  distraction  of  thought  caused  by  the 
various  wonders  and  beauties  of  the  shifting  pano- 
rama served  as  an  excellent  mental  and  moral  tonic, 
and  braced  up  all  the  energies  of  her  mind.  They 
stayed  abroad,  residing  sometimes  in  one  beautiful 
place,  sometimes  another,  for  about  three  years, 
and  it  was  while  they  were  wintering  in  Palermo  in 
the  last  year  of  their  wanderings  that  the  major 
received  a  letter  which  gave  him  the  burden  of  an- 
other secret  which  he  had  to  keep  from  Miss  Letty 
in  addition  to  the  one  concerning  the  "  dead  ras- 
cal," Harry  Raikes.  The  letter  was  from  an  old 
friend  and  fellow-officer,  and  among  other  items 
of  the  news  he  gave  was  the  following : 

"  By  the  way,  you  asked  me  to  tell  you  if  I  ever 
heard  any  news  of  D'Arcy-Muir's  son.  I  have 
heard  something,  and  I  expect  it  won't  please  you. 
He  passed  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth  into  Sandhurst, 
and  the  other  day  was  expelled  for  being  drunk 
and  kicking  up  a  disorderly  row.  It  is  a  bad  job 
for  the  young  chap,  but  what's  in  the  blood  will 
out — and  I  suppose  he  has  caught  the  drink  disease 
from  his  father.  He  has  ruined  his  military  career 
at  the  outset." 

Long  and  deeply  did  the  good  major  ponder  over 
this  piece  of  depressing  intelligence.  He  read  it  in 
the  court-yard  of  the  hotel  in  Palermo  where  they 
were  just  then  staying,  a  court-yard  which,  as  is 

279 


BOY. 

the  custom  in  Southern  cHmes,  presented  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  fairy  flower-garden,  festooned  with 
cHmbing  plants  in  blossom,  with  oranges  ripening 
in  the  warm  sun,  and  odours  of  mimosa,  heliotrope, 
and  violets  on  the  air.  "  Expelled  for  being 
drunk!"  Such  news  seemed  an  infamy  and  an 
insult,  in  such  a  scene  of  beauty  as  that  which  he 
looked  upon. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !"  he  murmured,  disconso- 
lately, fixing  his  eyes  on  a  fair  cluster  of  white 
clematis  swinging  above  his  head.  "  It  seems  to 
me  that  some  of  us  aren't  fit  to  inhabit  this  planet ! 
There's  everything  beautiful  in  it,  and  everything 
is  wisely  ordained,  and  it  is  only  we  who  make  the 
mischief  and  create  the  trouble.  '  Expelled  for 
being  drunk!'  And  that  kind  of  thing  ends  in 
being  expelled  from  the  world  altogether  before 
one  has  served  one's  time.  What  would  Letty 
say?" 

He  sighed  heavily,  but  in  a  few  minutes  of  con- 
sideration decided  that  it  would  be  worse  than 
foolish  to  tell  her. 

"  Let  her  keep  her  little  ideal  somewhere  in  her 
heart,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Don't  let  me  be  such 
a  great,  blundering  idiot  as  to  smudge  all  the  pic- 
ture out  for  her.  She  believes  in  Harry  Raikes, — 
she  may  as  well  believe  in  Boy  as  long  as  she  can. 
And  if  any  one  tells  her  what's  happened,  it  won't 
be  me." 

And  he  steadily  adhered  to  this  resolution.  It 
was  easy  to  do  so,  as  Boy's  name  was  never  men- 

280 


BOY. 

tioned  by  Miss  Letty  now,  and  all  her  thoughts 
seemed  taken  up  with  Violet.  He  put  away  his 
friend's  letter  unanswered, — carefully  marking  the 
date  on  which  he  received  it, — and  as  he  calculated 
that  Boy  must  be  getting  on  now  for  twenty,  he 
shook  his  head  and  decided  that  everything,  so  far 
as  "  that  unfortunate  young  chap"  was  concerned, 
was  rather  hopeless. 

"  However,  it's  no  use  blaming  the  lad  himself 
too  severely,"  he  considered.  "  He  has  had  every- 
thing against  him;  his  parents  have  both  shown 
him  the  worst  of  examples;  his  nature  was  warped 
at  its  very  commencement  and  in  its  very  growing, 
and  if  he  takes  to  the  bottle,  like  his  father,  and 
runs  down-hill  at  a  tearing  speed,  the  fault  doesn't 
rest  entirely  with  him." 

In  the  spring  of  that  same  year  they  returned  to 
London  and  "  settled  down,"  as  the  saying  is.  In 
order  that  Violet  might  take  up  the  career  her 
heart  was  pining  for — that  of  a  thoroughly  trained 
nurse.  She  was  never  happier  than  when  she  could 
soothe  pain  and  alleviate  suffering,  and  she  was 
altogether  eminently  fitted  for  the  profession  she 
sought  to  adopt.  Miss  Letty  did  not  deter  her,  nor 
did  her  uncle,  for  they  both  saw  that  work  and  ac- 
tive interest  in  the  welfare  of  others  was  the  only 
way  to  make  her  life  interesting  to  herself.  She 
had  really  no  need  to  work,  for  Miss  Letty  had, 
though  Violet  knew  it  not,  left  her  a  considerable 
fortune  in  her  will,  and,  of  course,  good  Major 
Desmond,  though  not  a  rich  man,  had  made  over 

281 


BOY. 

to  her  everything  he  possessed, — but  the  fact  of 
having  money  is  not  sufficient  to  fill  lives  which  are 
strong  and  earnest,  and  which  would  fain  prove  to 
God  that  they  are  worth  living.  So  Violet,  with 
her  firm  faith,  pure  heart,  and  gentle  manner,  went 
into  the  forests  of  difficulty  unarmed  and  fair  as 
Una  in  Spenser's  famous  poem,  and  studied  hard, 
consecrating  herself  heart  and  soul  to  the  work  she 
had  undertaken,  with  the  usual  result  of  all  earnest 
endeavour — complete  success.  Max  Nugent  had 
long  ceased  to  importune  her  for  the  mending  up 
of  the  broken  threads  of  affection,  and  of  this  she 
was  glad.  Her  disappointment  in  her  first  love 
had,  however,  deprived  her  of  any  interest  in  or 
expectation  of  marriage  for  herself, — in  fact,  the 
idea  had  become  repugnant  to  her  mind.  One  day 
her  uncle  asked  her, — 

"  Are  you  going  to  devote  all  your  life  to  the 
memory  of  Max  Nugent,  as  Letty  has  devoted  heis 
to  the  lost  and  gone  Harry  Raikes?" 

Violet  smiled. 

"  No,  uncle.  /  have  been  undeceived  —  Miss 
Letty  keeps  her  illusion.  I  never  think  of  Max 
now." 

''Well,  do  you  ever  think  of  anybody  else?" 
demanded  the  major. 

"  No." 

"Why  not?" 

Violet  laughed  outright. 

"  Dearest  uncle !  I  cannot  fall  in  love  to  order ! 
I  don't  like  the  men  I  see  much, — they  don't  want 

282 


BOY. 

me,  and  I  don't  want  them.  Leave  me  alone  to 
work,  dear  uncle, — I  love  my  work — I  am  useful 
— I  can  help  a  great  many  people  to  bear  their  trou- 
bles,— and  it  will  be  all  right  for  me.  If  I  am  to 
marry,  why,  I  shall ;   if  not,  I  shan't." 

And  she  kissed  him  and  slipped  away. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  self-same  monster  metropolis 
of  London,  where  Violet  went  daily  to  her  work  in 
the  hospital,  where  the  major  divided  his  days  be- 
tween his  club  and  Miss  Letty's  always  charming 
house,  and  where  Miss  Letty  herself,  growing  more 
feeble  and  ailing  with  years,  was  content  to  sit  very 
much  at  home  with  her  embroidery, — Boy,  who 
had  unconsciously  been  a  link  in  the  chain  of  their 
three  lives,  was  drifting  like  a  wreck  in  a  vast 
ocean.  The  terrible  blow  of  his  expulsion  from 
Sandhurst  had  been  taken  by  his  parents  as  a 
deadly  injury  to  themselves, — and  for  the  shame, 
the  misery,  the  utter  breaking-down  of  the  lad's 
own  life  and  ambitions,  they,  his  progenitors,  took 
no  thought  and  had  no  pity.  The  "  Honourable" 
Jim,  half-paralysed  as  he  was,  had  plenty  of 
strength  left  for  swearing,  and  used  oaths  in  plenty 
to  his  son,  calling  him  a  "  d — d  low  rascal !" 

"  You  don't  seem  to  belong  to  me  at  all !"  he 
shouted,  his  red  face  becoming  purple  with  rage 
and  excitement.  "  D — n  it,  sir,  I  am  a  gentleman 
— my  father  was  a  gentleman,  but  you — you  are 
a  blackguard,  sir!  D — n  it!  when  I  took  my 
glass  I  took  it  like  a  gentleman ;  I  didn't  go  about 
disgracing  myself  and  my  profession  as  you  have 

283 


BOY. 

done.  You  had  better  enlist,  if  they'll  have  you, 
as  a  private.  Anyhow,  you  must  do  something 
for  your  bread — /  can't  afford  to  keep  you!" 

Boy  heard  in  absolute  silence.  He  was  too  com- 
pletely scornful  of  life  and  the  ways  of  life  to 
care  to  remind  his  father  that  he  himself  had  been 
one  long  disgrace  to  his  son  from  that  son's  baby- 
hood, and  that  his  paralytic  condition  was  alto- 
gether owing  to  his  indulgence  in  strong  drink. 
What  was  the  good?  More  oaths  and  a  redder 
face  would  be  the  sole  result.  And  his  mother? 
Had  she  one  word  of  pardon  or  of  sympathy  for 
him  in  his  deep  humiliation?  Not  she!  Embedded 
in  fat,  all  she  could  do  was  to  shake  her  double 
chin  at  him  over  a  mountain  of  maternal  bosom. 

"  It's  always  the  way,"  she  said,  dabbing  a  hand- 
kerchief into  her  eyes,  "  when  good  mothers  do 
everything  for  their  sons !  They  have  to  suffer ! 
You  have  broken  my  heart.  Boy! — your  mother's 
heart !  All  my  hopes  of  you  are  ruined !  I  don't 
feel  as  if  you  were  my  Boy!  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what  you  are  going  to  do.  We  have  no  for- 
tune, as  you  are  perfectly  aware.  We  can't  afford 
to  keep  you  idling  about,  doing  nothing!" 

Boy,  tall,  pale,  handsome,  and  with  an  inde- 
finable air  of  langour  and  scorn  about  him,  smiled 
wearily. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  mother!"  he  said.  "  I 
will  earn  enough  bread  to  keep  me  alive,  if  I  do 
it  by  sweeping  a  crossing.     Good-bye." 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  demanded  his  mother, 
284 


BOY. 

somewhat  frightened  at  his  set  face  and  blazing 
eyes. 

"Do  you  care?"  And  he  laughed  bitterly. 
"  I'm  going — to  the  devil,  I  suppose!" 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  moaned  and  dabbed  hei* 
eyes  again. 

"  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !"  she  wailed.  "  When  I 
think  of  all  the  sacrifices  I  have  made  to  send  you 
to  college,  and  all  the  trouble  I  have  had,  really  it 
seems  too  dreadful !  A  mother's  life  is  martyr- 
dom— complete  martyrdom!  Why  don't  you  go 
hunt  up  old  Miss  Letty " 

Then,  and  quite  suddenly,  Boy  flared  up.  "  Miss 
Letty!  The  Miss  Letty  who  wanted  to  adopt  me 
as  a  child — and  you  wouldn't  let  her !  Not  I !  It 
would  have  been  a  jolly  sight  better  for  me,  per- 
haps, if  I  had  been  with  her;  but  to  go  to  her 
now — now,  when  I  am  expelled" — he  choked  at 
the  word  and  had  a  struggle  to  go  on — "  and  in 
disgrace, — now!     No,  mother,  never!" 

With  a  strange  gesture,  half  of  fury,  half  of 
despair,  he  turned  and  left  her  and  went  out  of  the 
house.  His  mother  was  far  too  unwieldy  and 
comfortable  in  herself  to  rise  from  her  chair  and 
enquire  where  he  was  going,  and  though  she 
called  "  Boy!"  once  as  he  disappeared,  he  did  not 
hear  her. 

He  had  two  or  three  pounds  in  his  pocket,  and 
rather  than  put  up  with  any  more  useless  re- 
proaches and  complaints  at  home,  he  decided  to 

285 


BOY. 

take  a  cheap  lodging  somewhere  near  the  Strand 
and  seek  for  work, — any  kind  of  work. 

"  It's  all  the  same,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  cyni- 
cal philosophy  which  had  come  of  "  cramming" 
and  the  weariness  resulting  from  that  pernicious 
system,  "  whether  one  sweeps  out  an  ofhce  or 
controls  it,  work  of  every  kind  is  simply  work.  It 
only  differs  in  the  quality  and  the  pay."  • 

In  a  few  days,  through  the  help  of  a  young 
fellow  he  had  known  at  Sandhurst,  one  who  was 
unaffectedly  sorry  for  his  disgrace,  he  got  a  place 
as  assistant  clerk  in  an  agency  office.  It  was  dull 
business,  but  he  drudged  through  it  uncomplain- 
ingly, and  earned  enough  to  keep  himself  going. 
Sometimes  a  vague  idea  occurred  to  him  that  he 
would  go  on  the  stage. 

"  Everyone  does  that  when  they  are  down  ort 
their  luck,"  he  said.  "  I  might  begin  as  a  super. 
But  if  I  began  as  one  I  expect  I  should  stay  as 
one,  for  I  haven't  an  idea  of  acting.  However, 
some  people  would  say  that  is  an  advantage.  Be- 
cause if  you  can  act,  you  may  never  get  an  en- 
gagement." 

He  took  to  going  to  the  theatre  of  an  evening, 
and  studying  the  various  antics  and  grimaces  of 
all  the  puppets  in  the  different  shows.  Sometimes? 
it  amused  him, — more  often  it  bored  him.  But 
for  a  lonely  and  downhearted  lad  as  he  was,  it 
was  better  to  sit  among  human  beings  in  the 
warmth  and  light  with  the  sound  of  music  about 
him  than  to  be  all  alone  in  his  cheap  lodging, 
286 


BOY. 

brooding  on  his  miseries.  One  night  he  saw  a 
very  pretty  Httle  play  performed,  in  which  the 
heroine  was  a  maiden  lady  who  had  made  the  mis- 
take of  loving  where  she  was  not  loved.  Some- 
thing— a  mere  trifle  of  pathos,  a  touch  of  senti- 
ment in  one  scene — suddenly  recalled  Miss  Letty 
to  his  mind.  Quite  involuntarily,  and  almost  as 
if  his  brain  had  taken  to  acting  independently  of 
himself,  he  began  to  retrace  his  life,  and  follow  it 
backward  step  by  step  to  his  childhood's  days,  till 
gradually,  very  gradually,  small  incidents  and  cir- 
cumstances began  to  arrange  themselves  like  the 
pieces  of  a  puzzle,  and  he  remembered  a  number 
of  things  he -had  long  forgotten.  Again  he  saw 
himself  rambling  down  by  the  sea-shore,  a  solitary, 
sad  little  fellow,  talking  to  "  Rattling  Jack ;"  again 
he  saw  Miss  Letty's  house  in  Scotland;  and  the 
memory  of  the  last  walk  he  had  taken  with  her 
there  through  the  Pass  of  Achray  came  back  to 
him  as  freshly  as  if  it  had  only  happened  yes- 
terday. 

Though  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  stage,  he  saw 
an  entirely  different  picture  to  that  which  the  ac- 
tors were  representing — a  picture  which  had  been 
blurred  and  blotted  out  from  his  mind  for  many 
years  by  the  heavy  mass  of  information  which  had 
been  thrown  at  him  to  digest  as  best  he  might 
in  the  shortest  possible  time.  This  obscuration 
of  mental  faculty  was  beginning  to  clear  like  a 
thick  fog  away  from  the  mirror  of  his  brain,  and 
with  a  strange  pang  of  regret  he  recalled  the  gen- 

287 


BOY. 

tie  face,  the  soft  voice,  the  sweet  and  kindly  ways 
of  the  good  woman  who  had  loved  him  so  much 
when  a  child.  As  soon  as  the  play  was  ended  he 
got  up  and  went  out  with  the  rest,  but  lingered 
near  the  theatre  door  while  the  crowd  of  fashion- 
able and  unfashionable  folk  were  hustling  them- 
selves and  each  other  into  cabs  and  carriages, 
watching  each  face  as  it  passed  by  and  wondering 
if  by  chance  Miss  Letty  might  be  among  them. 
Or  if  not,  perhaps  Major  Desmond,  to  whom  he 
would  at  once  tell  his  miserable  story, — the  story 
of  his  disgrace  at  Sandhurst,  which  had  not  been 
so  much  his  fault  as  that  of  a  "  superior"  officer 
who  had  tempted  him  to  drink  and. had  laughed 
at  him  when  drunk,  himself  escaping  scot-free 
when  the  matter  was  inquired  into  and  the  un- 
happy boy  whom  he  had  led  to  ruin  was  expelled. 
Yes,  it  might  be  well  to  confide  in  Major  Des- 
mond,— he  would  do  so,  he  resolved,  the  very  next 
day.  With  a  deep  sigh  he  roused  himself  from 
his  reverie,  and  moved  away  from  the  threshold 
of  the  corridor  to  the  theatre  where  he  had  been 
standing,  when  suddenly  his  arm  was  touched 
timidly  and  a  sweet,  anxious  voice  said: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ! — but  would  you  mind — 
might  I  ask  you — to  find  me  a  cab  ?  I  have  missed 
my  father  in  the  crowd — I  am  all  alone!" 

He  turned  and  looked  at  the  speaker  and  was 
quite  startled  by  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  face 
uplifted  to  his  own.  Such  large,  eloquent,  dark 
eyes ! — such  beautiful,  black,  curly  hair ! — such  an 

288 


BOY. 

exquisite  complexion! — a  smile  that  fairly  daz; 
zled  him! — and  a  figure  of  the  most  girlish  and 
fairy  like  grace  to  crown  and  complete  all  these  at- 
tractions! Hastily  he  raised  his  cap,  and  blushed 
hotly  at  the  extreme  honour  he  felt  at  being 
spoken  to  by  such  a  beautiful  woman. 

"  Do  you  mind  ?"  murmured  the  fair  one  again. 
"  I  am  afraid  it  is  very  dreadful  of  me  to  ask  you ; 
but  papa  must  have  taken  the  carriage;  he  must 
have  thought  I  had  gone  home  with  some  other 
friends  who  were  here  to-night.  And  I  do  feel 
so  very  nervous, — I  have  never  been  left  alone 
anywhere." 

Boy  started  from  his  stupor  of  admiration  into 
instant  action. 

"  I'll  get  you  a  cab  directly — of  course  I  will," 
he  said.  "  Just  sit  down  here  in  the  corridor — 
it's  very  draughty  though,  I  am  afraid.  Won't 
you  catch  cold?" 

"  I  have  a  warm  cloak,  thank  you,"  said  the  be- 
witching siren,  smiling  up  at  him.  "  Thank  you 
so  much!" 

"A  hansom  or  a  four-wheeler?"   asked  Boy. 

"  Oh,  anything !     I  am  ^o  sorry  to  trouble  you !" 

Boy  dashed  off  into  the  street.  It  never  for  a 
moment  occurred  to  him  that  the  young  lady  could 
just  as  well  have  asked  the  same  attention  from 
one  of  the  stalwart  policemen  on  guard  near  the 
theatre  door,  and  that  perhaps  it  would  have  been 
more  in  keeping  with  the  proprieties  if  she  had 
done  so.  He  soon  secured  a  hansom,  the  smart- 
19  289 


BOY. 

est  and  cleanest  he  could  find,  and  ran  back  to  the 
charming  creature  who  had  so  confidingly  thrown 
herself  upon  his  protection. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  But  won't  you  come  with 
me?"  said  the  beautiful  heroine  of  this  dramatic 
incident.  "  Please  c?o.'  Come  home  and  see  papa. 
He  will  be  so  glad !"  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  winning  than  the  innocent  and  child-like  way 
in  which  she  gave  this  invitation.  She  made  it 
all  the  more  irresistible  by  pressing  her  little,  dain- 
tily gloved  fingers  on  Boy's  arm, — a  touch  which 
thrilled  him  through  and  through. 

"I  shall  be  so  frightened,"  she  went  on,  "  in  a 
cab  all  alone.  Please  see  me  home,  if  only  to  the 
door." 

"All  right,"  said  Boy,  resolutely,  "  I'll  come." 

He  assisted  her  into  the  hansom  with  the  great- 
est tenderness,  and  carefully  tucked  her  pretty 
skirts  about  her  tiny  feet, — oh !  what  charming 
skirts,  all  soft  and  silken  and  frilled  and  rustling, 
like  the  leaves  of  fringed  French  poppies. 

"What  address?"    he  inquired. 

She  gave  him  a  number  and  street  near  Sloane 
Square,  and  he,  confiding  the  same  to  the  cabman, 
sprang  in  beside  her,  and  they  rattled  away  to- 
gether through  the  streets,  Boy  delighted  with  the 
adventure,  and  the  pleasure  of  being  chosen  as  the 
protector  and  cavalier  of  so  fascinating  a  being  as 
his  companion. 

"Isn't  this  fun?"  she  said,  her  eyes  sparkling 
like  jewels  in  the  light  reflected  from  the  cab  lamps. 

290 


BOY. 

"  I  feel  so  safe  now !  You  ought  to  know  my 
name,  I  think.     Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  answered  Boy,  still  trou- 
bled by  a  tendency  to  blush  at  his  own  temerity. 
"  I  should  like  to  know  it,  that  I  might  remember 
it — and  you — always !" 

This  was  a  fairly  good  hit,  and  was  promptly 
responded  to  on  the  part  of  the  fair  one  by  a  modest 
droop  of  the  head  and  tender  side  glance. 

"  How  sweet  of  you  to  say — that!"  she  mur- 
mured ;  "  but  I  am  afraid  you  will  soon  forget. 
My  name  is  Lenore  de  Gramont.  I  am  the  only 
daughter  of  a  French  nobleman,  the  Marquis  de 
Gramont." 

Boy  blushed  more  hotly  than  ever.  What  a  po- 
sition for  him !  Here  he  was,  in  a  hansom  cab, 
with  the  daughter  of  a  French  marquis!  He  did 
not  know  whether  he  ought  to  be  proud  or  humili- 
ated. 

"  Papa  is  a  very  clever  man,"  went  on  the  charm- 
ing Lenore,  confidingly;  "  he  has  a  beautiful  cas- 
tle in  France,  but  he  is  so  fond  of  England, — oh, 
so  fond !  He  would  rather  live  in  quite  little  apart- 
ments in  England  than  in  a  palace  in  France." 

"Really!"   said  Boy. 

"  Yes.  And  he  is  so  found  of  Englishmen. 
He  adores  them !     You  are  English?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Boy.  "  My  name  is  Robert 
D'Arcy-Muir.  I  am  the  only  son  of  the  Honour- 
able James  D'Arcy-Muir." 

"  The  Honourable?"  queried  Lenore,  with  a  fas- 
291 


BOY. 

cinating  uplifting  of  her  delicate  eyebrows.  "Ah, 
yes,  that  is  one  of  your  Enghsh  distinctions — so 
grand  and  meaning  so  much !  Our  titles  in  France 
mean  nothing!" 

"  I  have  been  in  France,"  said  Boy. 

"  Have  you?     Did  you  like  it?" 

"  I  was  only  at  school  there  when  a  boy,"  he  re- 
plied. "  The  school  was  near  the  sea-coast  in  Brit- 
tany." 

"Ah,  dear  Brittany!  So  charming — so  pictur- 
esque— so  poetic!" 

"  Well  I  can't  say  much  about  that,"  said  Boy. 
"  I  was  there  just  for  a  year, — but  I  didn't  care 
about  it.     The  boys  were  rather  a  bad  lot." 

"  It  was  perhaps  a  bad  school,"  said  the  daughter 
of  the  marquis,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  Oh,  you  must 
not  be  too  severe  about  my  dear  Brittany.  Here 
we  are.     Do  come  in !" 

Boy  helped  her  out  of  the  cab,  and  as  she  sprang 
lightly  to  the  ground  she  looked  up  with  tender  en- 
treaty in  her  eyes  and  repeated  the  words, — "  Do 
come  in!" 

Boy  hesitated,  then  paid  the  cabman  and  dis- 
missed him. 

"  Do  you  think  your  father — the  marquis, " 

he  stammered  uneasily. 

"  He  will  be  charmed !"  said  the  captivating 
Lenore.  "  Come,  I  will  take  no  denial.  You 
must  have  supper  with  us — come!"  And  almost 
before  he  knew  how  it  happened,  Boy  found  him- 
self in  the  highly  decorated  hall  of  a  small  flat, 

292 


BOY. 

bowing  to  a  stoutly  built  gentleman  with  a  red 
face  and  a  superabundance  of  moustache,  whom 
Lenore  introduced  as — 

"  My  father,  the  Marquis  de  Gramont." 

And  while  Boy  made  his  bashful  salute,  father 
and  daughter  exchanged  a  profane  wink,  which, 
had  their  guileless  guest  observed  it,  would  cer- 
tainly have  surprised  him. 

"  Dear  papa,"  said  Lenore  then,  in  her  pretty, 
caressing  voice,  "  how  could  you  leave  me  behind 
at  the  theatre  in  that  cruel  way?  What  were  you 
thinking  about?  This  is  Mr.  Robert  D'Arcy-Muir, 
the  son  of  the  Honourable  Mr.  D'Arcy-Muir,  who 
was  good  enough  to  get  me  a  hansom  and  bring 
me  home,  and  if  he  hadn't  been  so  kind  to  me, 
where  do  you  suppose  I  should  have  been,  you 
naughty  papa!" 

By  this  time  the  marquis  appeared  to  understand 
and  grasp  the  position. 

"  My  dear,  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  in  smooth, 
deep  accents — "  very  sorry !  I  really  thought  you 
had  gone  home  with  our  other  friends.  But  you 
have  been  most  fortunate  in  finding  such  a  hand- 
some and  gallant  cavalier  to  take  care  of  you.  You 
are  very  welcome,  my  boy,"  he  said,  heartily,  lay- 
ing a  fat  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 
"  Supper  has  just  begun.  Come  in,  sans  cerhnonie. 
Come  and  share  our  simple  meal." 

He  led  the  way;  Lenore  threw  off  her  opera 
cloak,  thereby  showing  her  dazzling  beauty  to 
much  greater  advantage  than  before,  and,  slipping 

293 


BOY. 

her  bare,  rounded  arm  through  Boy's  with  a  little, 
coaxing  pressure,  she  took  him  into  a  room  of  con- 
siderable size,  where  a  light  supper  was  laid  out 
with  a  good  deal  of  elegance,  and  where  several 
other  men  were  sitting,  all  rather  red-faced,  and 
with  something  of  a  free-and-easy  air  about  them. 
Boy  was  introduced  to  the  party  as  "  the  son  of  the 
Honourable  James  D'Arcy-Muir,"  whereat  he  won- 
dered a  little,  as  he  could  not  see  what  his  parent- 
age had  to  do  with  his  present  way  of  passing  his 
evening.  But  he  presently  decided  that  as  his  host 
was  a  marquis,  no  doubt  all  the  gentlemen  with 
him  were  of  the  bluest  blood  and  highest  degree, 
and  that  therefore  it  was  necessary  to  say  who  he 
was,  in  order  that  he  might  be  known  as  a  fit  com- 
panion for  such  distinguished  personages.  Sup- 
pose they  knew  he  was  expelled  from  Sandhurst ! 
The  hot  blood  surged  to  the  very  tips  of  his  ears 
as  this  thought  crossed  his  mind,  and  he  took  his 
seat  at  table  like  one  in  a  dream. 

"  Champagne,  Mr.  D'Arcy-Muir?"  inquired  the 
marquis,  courteously,  passing  the  bottle. 

"Thanks!"  And  Boy,  filling  his  glass,  raised 
it  to  his  lips  and  bowed  low  to  the  fair  Lenore,  sit- 
ting next  to  him,  who,  smiling,  bowed  in  return. 
And  after  the  little  pause  which  generally  follows 
the  entry  of  a  stranger  at  a  feast,  conversation  be- 
gan again  and  soon  became  argumentative  and 
noisy.  Politics  and  society  were  discussed,  and 
several  of  the  gentlemen  present  appeared,  for  gen- 
tlemen, to  have  some  curious  notions  of  honour. 

294 


BOY. 

"  Oh,  hang  all  that  sort  of  rot,"  said  one,  a  man 
with  a  clean-shaven  face  and  a  physiognomy  ap- 
parently got-up  as  a  copy  of  Mr.  Pinero's.  "  Suc- 
cess is  the  only  thing  you  need  care  about.  Money, 
money,  money!  People  don't  care  a  brass  button 
whether  you  are  honourable  or  not.  Tradesmen 
are  more  civil  to  the  aristocrats  who  run  up  long 
bills  than  to  those  who  owe  short  ones.  It's  all  a 
matter  of  hard  cash.  Principle  is  an  old  card,  long 
played  out." 

"  Did  you  see  that  new  girl  in  the  piece  at  the 
Harem  Theatre  last  night?"  said  another.  "  Lit- 
tle idiot !  She  can't  act.  She  ought  to  be  a  char- 
woman," 

"  Perhaps  she  cannot  do  charing,"  suggested  the 
marquis,  nodding  at  his  daughter,  who  at  once  re- 
plenished Boy's  glass.  "  It  is  a  metier — it  may  re- 
quire study." 

They  all  laughed. 

"  She's  an  idiot,  I  say,"  went  on  the  former 
speaker.  "  She  could  make  thousands  if  she  would 
just  let  the  actor-manager  do  as  he  likes  with 
her " 

"  Gentlemen,"  interrupted  the  marquis,  with  a 
fierce  twirl  of  his  moustache,  "  I  must  beg  you  to 
remember  that  my  daughter  is  present." 

Boy  looked  at  him  admiringly,  and  warmed  to 
the  fine  spirit  he  exhibited.  He,  Boy,  was  rapidly 
getting  indignant  at  the  unmannerly  way  in  which 
these  eating  and  drinking  men  were  eying  the  ex- 
quisite Lenore, — one  man  had  actually  wafted  her 

295 


BOY. 

a  kiss  from  the  other  side  of  the  table,  and  she  had 
pretended  not  to  see.  But,  of  course,  she  had  seen, 
and  was  no  doubt  hurt  and  disgusted.  She  must 
have  been  disgusted, — any  sweet  girl  like  that 
would  feel  outraged  at  such  vulgar  familiarity! 
Boy  was  growing  more  and  more  heated  and  ex- 
cited as  the  time  went  on;  he  had  eaten  scarcely 
anything,  but  he  had  taken  all  the  champagne  given 
to  him,  and  there  was  a  buzzing  in  his  head  like 
the  swarming  of  a  hive  of  bees.  At  a  sign  from 
the  marquis  he  got  up  unsteadily,  and,  accepting 
a  cigarette,  went  with  all  the  party  into  a  side 
room,  where  Lenore  drove  him  to  still  further  des- 
peration and  infatuation  by  taking  his  cigarette 
from  him,  putting  it  for  a  moment  between  her 
own  rosy  lips,  then  lighting  it  and  giving  it  back 
to  him  with  a  mischievous  courtsey  and  smile  that 
were  enough  to  confuse  a  much  wiser  and  clearer 
head  than  that  of  a  young  man  only  just  turned 
twenty.  Dimly  he  became  aware  of  a  card-table 
being  pushed  towards  him, — dimly  through  the 
brain-fumes  of  smoke  and  champagne  he  heard  his 
host,  the  Marquis  de  Gramont,  asking  him  to  play 
a  game  with  them. 

"  What  is  it?"  he  demanded,  thickly.  "  I  am  not 
clever  at  cards.  Are  you?"  This  with  a  stupid 
laugh  and  sentimental  look  at  Lenore. 

"  Oh,  no !  I  never  play  anything,"  said  the 
young  lady,  smiling  sweetlv.  "  I  only  look  on. 
But  I  think  baccarat  is  a  very  amusing  game.  Do 
play!" 

296 


BOY. 

Whereupon  he  sat  down  with  the  rest  of  the 
men,  and  was  soon,  under  the  guidance  of  the 
marquis,  in  the  full  heat  and  excitement  of  play. 
He  did  not  know  in  the  least  what  he  was  doing; 
he  obeyed  every  hint  from  the  marquis  or  from 
Lenore,  who  leaned  over  his  shoulder  caressingly 
and  whispered  now  and  then — "  I  would  play  that 
if  I  were  you,"  or  "  I  would  do  that."  Every- 
thing was  in  a  whirl  with  him,  and  he  only  came 
to  his  senses  at  last  with  a  sharp  shock  when,  at 
the  conclusion  of  four  or  five  games,  the  marquis 
asked  courteously, — 

"  Would  you  care  to  go  on  any  further,  Mr. 
D'Arcy-Muir?  Pray  do  not  think  me  officious 
for  reminding  you  that  you  have  lost  five  hundred 
pounds  already."     Boy  started  from  his  chair. 

"What?  Five  hundred  pounds!  Nonsense! 
I  thought  we  were  playing  for  fun, — for  six- 
pences,— for ' ' 

"  No,  not  exactly,"  said  the  marquis,  urbanely 
and  with  a  slight  smile.  "  You  have  been  rather 
unlucky  so  far, — but  if  you  wish  to  go  on,  it  is 
possible  you  may  win  back  what  you  have  lost." 

But  Boy  still  stood  amazed,  with  a  wild  look 
in  his  eyes. 

"Lost!  Five  hundred  pounds!  My  God!" 
Then,  rallying  a  little,  he  looked  around  him  be- 
wilderedly.     "  To  whom  do  I  owe  this  money?" 

The  other  men  laughed  carelessly. 

"  Why,  to  the  winners,  old  chappie,"  said  one. 
"  The   marquis" — with    a    slight,    somewhat    sar- 

297 


BOY. 

castic  emphasis  on  this  title — "  will  tell  you  all 
about  it.  Don't  worry! — he'll  settle  it  all  for 
you." 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  be  of  any  service 
to  Mr.  D'Arcy-Muir,"  said  the  marquis  at  once. 
"  He  has  only  to  give  me  his  note  of  hand  that  in 
ten  days  he  will  repay  me,  and  the  five  hundred 
pounds  is  ready  for  him — even  more,  if  he  requires 
it." 

"  Repay — five  hundred  pounds !"  And  Boy  still 
stared  about  him  in  horror  and  fear.  "  But — I 
have  not  five  hundred  pence  in  all  the  world !" 

The  marquis  smiled  again  and  stroked  his  mous- 
tache. 

"  No?  That  is  certainly  unfortunate.  But  your 
father,  the  Honourable  Mr.  D'Arcy-Muir,  will  no 
doubt  be  answerable  for  you.  This  is  a  debt  of 
honour,  of  course, — not  a  public  matter, — but  in- 
volving serious  private  disgrace  if  left  unpaid. 
However,  don't  distress  yourself,  my  dear  boy. 
I  will  accept  your  note  of  hand  at  fourteen  days 
instead  of  ten !" 

Boy  was  silent;  his  face  was  deadly  pale;  his 
eyes  bloodshot.  Then  he  suddenly  walked  close 
up  to  his  smiling  host  and  looked  him  full  in  the 
face. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "  I  begin  to 
realize  what  you  are, — and  what  kind  of  trap  I 
have  fallen  into !  Very  well,  let  it  be  as  you  say : 
pay  these  men  what  I  owe  to  them — what  you 
have  made  me  lose  to  them — and  I  will  give  you 

298 


BOY. 

my  note  of  hand  for  the  amount.  And  in  fourteen 
days  you  shall  be  paid  back — somehow !" 

"  Good !"  And  the  marquis  went  at  once  to  a 
writing-desk  conveniently  at  hand  and  scrawled 
a  few  lines  hastily,  which  Boy  as  hastily  glanced 
at  and  signed  with  his  name  and  address.  "  Thank 
you !"  And  the  distinguished  French  nobleman 
shifted  about  a  little  and  avoided  with  some  un- 
easiness the  steady  glance  of  the  young  man's 
eyes. 

"  Five  hundred, — and  I  will  charge  you  no  in- 
terest for  the  loan.     Will  you  play  again?" 

"  Play  again?"  And  Boy  turned  upon  them  all 
with  such  a  tragedy  of  pain  written  on  his  face  as 
for  a  moment  awed  even  the  callous  gamesters, 
accustomed  to  ruin  young  men's  lives  with  as  little 
compunction  as  they  cracked  their  nuts  after  din- 
ner. "  No !  Had  I  known  better,  I  would  not 
have  played  at  all."  With  a  sudden,  fierce  move- 
ment he  sprang  towards  the  bewitching  Lenore 
and  seized  her  hands,  while  with  a  slight  cry  she 
tried  to  drag  herself  away  from  him.  "  You 
— you  betrayed  me  into  this!  Yoii  brought  me 
here! — you,  with  your  beautiful  face  and  beau- 
tiful eyes — you,  whom  I  thought  a  good,  inno- 
cent girl ! — a  good  girl !"  And  he  broke  into  a 
loud,  harsh  laugh,  like  the  laugh  of  a  madman. 
"  God  help  me !    I  thought  you  were  good !" 

He  flung  her  hands  from  him  with  a  gesture 
of  loathing  and  contempt,  and  then,  with  one  look 
of  miserable  defiance  at  the  practised  villains  who, 

299 


BOY. 

seated  round  the  card-table,  were  smoking  leis- 
urely and  smiling  as  though  they  were  listening 
to  a  very  amusing  play,  turned  and  left  the  room. 
His  first  thought  when  he  stood  in  the  open 
street  again  was  suicide, — his  next.  Miss  Letty. 
He  walked  along  swiftly,  scarcely  heeding  where 
he  went,  his  head  burning,  his  heart  throbbing,  his 
whole  being  possessed  by  the  exceeding  wrong 
done  to  him  by  Fate  in  endowing  him  with  the 
mere  fact  of  life.  He  was  unconscious  of  making 
any  protest,  yet  a  protest  there  was  in  his  own 
soul  which  would  not  and  could  not  have  found 
its  way  into  words,  because  he  did  not  himself 
recognize  the  nature  of  it.  God  alone  was  able  to 
read  that  protest  and  understand  it, — the  terrible 
indictment  brought  against  those  who  had  been 
given  this  young  life  to  guard  and  train  to  noblest 
results, — an  indictment  involuntarily  and  invisibly 
set  before  a  cloud  of  witnesses  every  day  by  young 
men  and  women  who  owe  their  mistakes  and  mis- 
eries to  the  blind  tyranny  and  selfishness  of  the 
parents  who  brought  them  into  existence.  If  Boy 
had  made  an  end  of  his  troubles  then  and  there, 
he  would  not,  strictly  speaking,  have  murdered 
himself  so  much  as  his  parents  would  have  mur- 
dered him.  From  the  earliest  beginnings  of  child- 
hood all  the  seeds  of  his  present  misery  had  been 
sown, — by  neglect,  by  carelessness,  by  bad  exam- 
ple, by  uncomfortable  home  surroundings,  by  do- 
mestic quarrellings,  by  the  want  of  all  the  grace, 
repose,  freedom,  courtesy,  kindliness,  and  sym- 
300 


BOY. 

pathy  which  should  give  every  man's  house  the 
hall-mark  of  Home.  His  childhood  had  been  sad 
and  solitary,  his  boyhood  embittered  by  disap- 
pointment, followed  by  the  excessive  strain  of 
competitive  cram  which  had  tired  and  tortured 
every  little  cell  in  his  brain  to  utter  exhaustion, — 
he  was  old  before  he  had  had  time  to  be  young. 
Miss  Letty!  The  thought  of  her  just  now  in  all 
his  wretchedness  brought  a  sudden  mist  of  tears 
to  his  eyes.  He  had  forgotten  her  so  long — so 
long!  And  when  he  had  seen  her  last  he  had 
scarcely  been  conscious  of  her,  because  so  stupe- 
fied by  the  weight  of  the  things  he  had  to  remem- 
ber for  his  exam.  She  had  seemed  a  dream  to  him, 
and  so  had  the  major.  Now,  when  the  mass  of 
undigested  learning  had  all  rolled  off  and  been  ab- 
solutely forgotten,  as  though  it  had  never  been 
learned,  the  remembrance  of  her  love  for  him  as 
a  child  came  freshly  back  like  a  breath  from  the 
sea  or  the  perfume  of  flowers.  He  slackened  his 
hurried  pace  and  grew  calmer.  The  stars  were 
shining  brightly  above  his  head,  though  London 
was  enswathed  in  a  kind  of  low  fog  which  crept 
dismally  up  from  the  ground  to  the  tops  of  the 
ugly  brick  houses,  and  there  hung  like  a  veil;  be- 
yond this,  the  deep  heavens  arched  high  and  clear, 
and  Venus  shone  steadfastly,  like  a  lamp  to  guide 
lost  travellers  on  their  way. 

"  I  will  try  Miss  Letty,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I 
won't  tell  her  just  yet  how  I  have  been  caught  in 
a  gambler's  snare.     I  will  just  simply  ask  her  if 

301 


BOY. 

she  will  lend  me  a  little  money.  Then  if  she  says 
'  Yes,'  I  will  go  to  her  and  explain.  I  don't  think 
she  will  refuse." 

He  carried  this  plan  into  action  the  next  day, 
and  wrote  to  his  old  friend  as  follows : 

"  Dear  Miss  Letty  : — I  am  afraid  you  will 
have  thought  me  very  careless  in  not  writing  to 
you  all  these  years,  and  very  selfish  now  to  write 
when  I  have  only  a  favour  to  ask  of  you,  but  I 
hope  you  will  not  mind,  and  try  still  to  keep  as 
good  an  opinion  of  me  as  you  can.  I  have  got  into 
rather  a  difficulty,  and  am  in  urgent  need  of  a 
little  money.  Can  you  lend  me  some?  I  do  not 
know  when  I  shall  be  able  to  pay  you  back,  but  I 
do  not  think  you  will  be  a  very  hard  creditor  to 
"  Yours  affectionately, 

"  Boy." 

He  posted  this  in  the  morning  about  ten  o'clock. 
At  eight  the  same  evening  he  got  his  answer,  en- 
closing a  cheque  for  fifty  pounds  and  the  follow- 
ing letter : 

"  My  dear  Boy  : — I  am  so  very  glad  to  hear 
from  you  again.  Please  accept  the  enclosed  as  a 
little  present,  and  change  it  at  my  bank,  and  if  you 
like  to  come  and  talk  over  any  of  your  difficulties 
with  me  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  help  you.  I 
am  nearly  always  to  be  found  at  home,  as  I  am 
rather  an  invalid. 

"  Your  old  friend 

"  Letitia  Leslie." 
302 


BOY. 

The  letter  dropped  from  his  hand,  and  he  looked 
at  the  cheque  with  a  kind  of  despair.  Fifty 
pounds!  In  his  extremity  it  was  useless.  How 
foolish  he  had  been  not  to  ask  Miss  Letty  for  the 
whole  sum  at  once!  He  took  up  the  letter  and 
read  it  again;  again  and  again  he  looked  at  the 
cheque. 

"Had  I  better  go  and  see  her?"  he  meditated. 
"  But  if  I  do  I  shall  have  to  tell  her  all  about  the 
row  at  Sandhurst,  and  now  this  gambling  business, 
and  she  will  think  me  a  regular  villain.  She  must 
be  quite  an  old  lady  now,  and  I  should  worry  her 
to  death.  She  would  be  so  disappointed  in 
me " 

He  looked  at  the  cheque  again, — and  then — like 
a  black  cloud  crossing  the  horizon — a  Thought 
began  to  creep  over  his  mind,  darkening  it  steadily 
into  gloom.  He  sat  quiet,  fingering  the  cheque  and 
Miss  Letty's  letter  together,  his  face  growing  paler 
and  paler,  his  eyes  harder  and  colder,  his  form 
rigid. 

"  People  should  always  write  the  amount  they 
are  drawing  in  plain  letters  on  their  cheques,"  he 
half  whispered  with  dry  lips  "  Miss  Letty  should 
have    written    the    word    '  fifty,'    not    the    figure 

'  50.'  " 

He  put  away  letter  and  cheque  and  went  to  bed 
early, — not  to  sleep,  but  to  toss  about  restlessly  all 
night  long.  What  a  horrible  time  he  passed ! 
what  fretting  dreams  tortured  him !  what  strange 
and  evil  faces  haunted  him,  chief  among  which 

303 


BOY. 

were  those  of  the  "  Marquis"  de  Gramont  and  his 
fascinating  daughter  Lenore,  and  the  smooth,  cold, 
handsome  face  of  the  officer  who  had  first  tempted 
him  to  drink  at  Sandhurst.  Of  his  mother  and 
father  he  never  thought;  they  had  never  shown 
him  the  sHghtest  sympathy.  Once  during  this 
wretched  night  of  fleeting  visions  he  saw  the  bent, 
crooked  figure  and  wrinkled  countenance  of  the 
old  sailor,  "  Rattling  Jack,"  whose  last  words  had 
been,  "  I'll  just  think  o'  ye  as  if  ye  were  dead." 
Death  was  better  than  disgrace, — and  yet — Miss 
Letty  was  so  good  a  woman — she  had  loved  him 
so  much — she  would  be  sure  to  forgive  him — 
if 

With  the  daylight  he  rose  and  sat  at  his  writing- 
table,  vaguely  turning  over  bits  of  paper  and  scrib- 
bling figures  on  them  without  any  apparent  inten- 
tion; then,  after  a  hurried  breakfast,  he  went  out. 
At  about  half-past  ten  he  made  his  way  to  Miss 
Letty's  bank,  and  drawing  her  cheque  out  of  his 
pocket  passed  it  across  the  counter.  The  cashier 
glanced  at  it  with  a  little  uplifting  of  his  eyebrows. 

"  All  in  notes,  or  would  you  like  any  gold?"  he 
demanded. 

Boy  was  staring  fixedly  in  front  of  him  and  did 
not  hear.  The  cashier  was  busy,  and  spoke  again 
impatiently  and  with  a  suspicious  glance. 

"  Notes  or  gold  ?  Will  you  have  all  notes  or  any 
gold?" 

"  Notes,  please,"  answered  Boy,  in  a  low  voice. 

The  cashier  turned  over  the  cheque. 
304 


BOY. 

"  You  have  forgotten  to  endorse  it,"  he  said, 
passing  it  back  and  handing  him  a  pen  ready  dipped 
in  ink. 

Boy  took  the  pen,  but  his  hand  shook.  Again  the 
cashier  looked  at  him  suspiciously.  When  he  had 
endorsed  the  cheque  the  cashier  vanished  into  the 
manager's  room  and  was  absent  some  minutes. 
Then  he  came  back  and  said,  with  great  civility, — 

"  Would  you  kindly  call  back  in  an  hour  ?  There 
is  a  little  formality  to  go  through  with  before  pay- 
ing out  so  large  an  amount  from  Miss  Leslie's  cur- 
rent account " 

"Is  there?"  stammered  Boy,  turning  deathly 
white. 

"  Oh,  only  a  mere  matter  of  form,"  said  the 
cashier,  watching  him  narrowly,  "  and  our  man- 
ager is  rather  busy  just  now.  If  you  will  call  back 
at  twelve  he  will  explain  everything  to  you  and 
hand  you  over  the  money." 

Boy  bent  his  head  mechanically  and  went  out, 
sick  with  terror.  Meanwhile,  one  of  the  bank's 
confidential  clerks,  acting  on  instructions  received, 
went  out  of  the  building  by  a  side  door,  and  jump- 
ing into  a  hansom  was  driven  straight  to  Miss 
Letty's  house.  Could  he  see  Miss  Leslie?  The 
servant  who  opened  the  door  was  not  quite  sure, — 
Miss  Leslie  was  not  very  well. 

"  Please  say  to  her  that  the  business  is  urgent, 
and  that  I  come  from  the  bank,"  said  the  clerk. 

Upon  this  the  servant  showed  him  into  the  hall, 
where  he  waited  for  a  few  minutes  impatiently. 
20  305 


BOY. 

Then  he  was  shown  into  Miss  Letty's  morning- 
room,  where,  near  a  sparkHng  fire,  and  surrounded 
by  many  flowers,  sat  Miss  Letty  herself,  a  picture 
of  fair  and  tranquil  old  age,  quietly  knitting. 

"  Excuse  me  troubling  you,  madam,"  began  the 
clerk,  stumbling  awkwardly  into  the  dainty  little 
sanctum,  and  standing  abashed  in  the  presence  of 
this  gracious,  sweet  old  lady,  who,  as  he  afterwards 
said  when  speaking  of  her,  looked  like  a  queen. 

"  Pray  do  not  mention  it,  sir,"  said  Miss  Letty, 
with  her  old-fashioned  courtesy.  "  I  am  quite 
ready  to  attend  business  at  any  time.  Excuse  me 
rising  to  receive  you, — I  am  not  very  strong  to- 
day." 

The  clerk  hesitated. 

"  Our  cashier  was  not  quite  certain  about  this 
cheque,"  he  at  last  went  on.  "  As  it  is  not  usual 
for  you  to  draw  such  a  large  sum  at  once  out  of 
your  current  account,  we  thought  it  might  be  as 
well  to  make  an  enquiry  before  paying  it " 

He  paused,  alarmed  at  the  white  face  Miss  Letty 
turned  upon  him. 

"  What  cheque  are  you  speaking  of?"  she  asked. 
"  For  a  large  sum?    Pray,  let  me  see  it." 

He  took  out  his  pocket-book  and  handed  her  the 
cheque, — carefully  folded  in  two, — then  awaited 
her  response.  With  trembling  fingers  she  opened 
it  and  read,  "  Pay  to  Robert  D'Arcy-Muir  the  sum 
of  £500." 

A  dark  mist  swam  before  her  eyes;  she  turned 
faint  and  giddy;  the  room  whirled  round  her  in 
306 


BOY. 

a  circle  of  firelight  and  flowers,  with  the  conven- 
tional figure  of  the  bank  clerk  standing  out  angu- 
larly in  the  centre ;  then,  with  a  strong  mental 
effort,  she  recovered  herself  and  quietly  re-folded 
the  cheque. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  faintly;  then,  clearing  her  voice, 
she  forced  herself  to  speak  more  distinctly  and  to 
smile, — "  yes,  it  is  quite  right — quite — correct!" 

And  she  rose  from  her  chair,  her  soft  grey  cash- 
meres falling  about  her,  and  the  old  lace  kerchief 
knotted  on  her  bosom,  heaving  a  little  with  her 
quickened  breath.  "  It  is  quite  correct,"  she  went 
on.  "  The  young  man — Mr.  D'Arcy-Muir — pre- 
sented it  himself,  no  doubt?" 

"  Yes,  madam,"  said  the  clerk,  humbly,  "  he  did, 
but — we  thought  it  best  to  ask.  Very  sorry,  I  am 
sure,  to  have  had  any  doubt !  But  you  see  the  last 
'  nought'  is  not  precisely  in  your  usual  way  of 
finishing  a  figure,  and — er — the  sum  being 
large " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see,"  said  Miss  Letty,  bravely 
smiling.  "  My  writing  is  not  so  good  as  it  was, 
— I  am  getting  old.  Thank  you  for  your  trouble 
in  coming,  and  thank  the  manager,  please.  Tell 
him  it  is  quite  correct!" 

She  gave  him  back  the  cheque,  and  he  accepted 
it  with  a  bow. 

"  Sorry  to  have  troubled  you,  madam,  I  am 
sure." 

■"  Not  at  all,"  said  Miss  Letty, — "  not  at  all. 
Good-morning !" 

307 


BOY. 

"  Good-morning,  madam !" 

He  left  her,  and  she  stood  hke  a  creature  turned 
into  stone. 

"  Boy!  Oh,  Boy!"  The  name  escaped  her  lips 
in  a  half -whisper. 

She  looked  around  her ;  her  eyes  were  dim,  and 
she  was  still  troubled  by  a  sickening  giddiness. 
She  moved  to  her  chair,  and  laid  one  hand  on  the 
arm  of  it  to  steady  herself. 

"  You  should  have  died  when  you  were  a  child, 
poor  Boy !"  she  said,  still  whisperingly.  "  Poor 
little  Boy !  You  should  have  died  when  you  were  a 
child !" 

Still  she  stood  rigid  and  tearless,  unconscious 
of  all  around  her,  her  blue  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy. 
The  door  opened — she  did  not  hear  it.  Violet  Mor- 
rison, very  fair  to  see  in  the  neat  grey  gown  and 
spotless  white  cap  of  her  calling,  entered — she  did 
not  notice  her. 

"MissLetty!" 

She  started  a  little,  turned  her  head,  and  strove 
to  smile  and  speak,  but  could  not.  Violet,  alarmed, 
sprang  to  her  side. 

"Darling  Miss  Letty!  What  has  happened? — 
What  is  the  matter?" 

A  deep  sigh  broke  from  Miss  Letty's  lips.  She 
trembled  a  little. 

"Nothing,  dear, — nothing!  I  was  only  just 
thinking — of  Boy !" 

"  Were  you  ?"  And  Violet's  face  grew  more 
serious.     Something  was  surely  wrong  with  Miss 

308 


BOY. 

Letty! — she  had  not  mentioned  Boy  for  years. 
"  What  made  you  think  of  him  just  now,  dear- 
est?" 

And  she  sHpped  her  strong  young  arm  about  the 
old  lady's  trembling  figure. 

"  A  little  circumstance  reminded  me,"  replied 
Miss  Letty,  dreamily,  "of  the  dayg  when  he  was 
a  child.  Do  you  see  up  there,  Violet?" — and  she 
pointed  to  a  small  shelf  above  the  mantelpiece, — 
"  those  quaint  little  shoes  ?  He  used  to  wear  them 
— and  rub  them  out  at  the  toes;  you  will  notice 
they  are  quite  worn.  And  that  toy  there — that 
cow;  it  moves  its  head;  he  used  to  call  it  '  Dunny,' 
and  he  loved  it  so  much  that  he  took  it  everywhere 
about  with  him.  Such  a  funny  little  fellow! — 
sueh  a  dear,  innocent  little  man! — such  an  inno- 
cent, sweet  little  man !" 

The  last  words  were  almost  inaudible,  for  as  she 
spoke  them  her  face  suddenly  changed  and  grew 
ashen  grey;  she  reeled  and  would  have  fallen,  had 
not  Violet  caught  her  just  in  time  and  laid  her 
gently  back  in  her  arm-chair  in  a  dead  faint.  The 
house  was  soon  in  confusion ;  one  servant  flew  for 
the  doctor,  another  for  Major  Desmond,  who  ar- 
rived on  the  scene  just  as  his  old  friend  was  be- 
ginning to  recover  consciousness  under  the  careful 
tending  of  Violet,  whose  trained  medical  knowledge 
now  stood  her  in  good  stead. 

"What  has  upset  her  like  this?"  he  asked,  his 
kind  face  growing  drawn  and  haggard  as  he  saw 


309 


BOY. 

the  deathlike  pallor  of  his  beloved  Letty's  features. 
"  How  did  it  happen?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Violet,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  I  found  her  standing  by  her  chair  and  talking  to 
herself  about  Boy!" 

The  doctor  soon  came,  and  after  careful  examin- 
ation pronounced  it  to  be  shock. 

"A  nervous  shock,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  She'll 
get  all  right  presently — won't  you  ?"  And  he  patted 
his  patient's  pretty  old  hand  soothingly.  "  You'll 
get  all  right  presently." 

Miss  Letty  looked  round  upon  them  all  with  her 
sweetly  patient  air  and  smiled. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  shall  soon  be  quite  well.  You 
must  not  worry  about  me." 

"But  what's  the  matter,  Letty?"  asked  the 
major,  tenderly  bending  over  her  chair, — "  What 
is  troubling  you?" 

"  Nothing,  Dick.  It  was  only  a  little  faintness. 
I  am  almost  well  now — almost  well ! — only  weak 
— very  weak " 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  lay  back  again  in  her 
chair,  while  Violet  still  bathed  her  forehead  and 
chafed  her  hands.  She  was  reviving  gradually, 
and  after  a  few  minutes  the  doctor  took  his  leave. 
Out  in  the  hall,  however,  he  beckoned  mysteriously 
to  Major  Desmond. 

"  She  may  last  a  couple  of  years  or  so  longer," 
he  said,  "  but  she  will  require  the  greatest  care;  it 
is  the  beginning  of  the  end." 

And  with  a  hurried  bow,  after  these  ominous 
310 


BOY. 

words,  he  got  into  his  brougham  and  was  driven 
away.  Major  Desmond  stood  where  the  doctor' 
had  left  him,  stupefied. 

"  The  beginning  of  the  end  !"  Letty !  He  shud- 
dered. Letty  had  got  her  deathblow !  She  was 
going  away  to  be  an  angel  with  Harry  Raikes,  and 
sit  on  a  golden  throne 


"  No!  By  G — !  She  shan't!"  said  the  major, 
desperately.     "  If  she  goes,  I'll  go  with  her !" 

Meanwhile  the  confidential  clerk  from  the  bank, 
whose  visit  was  the  unguessed  cause  of  all  this 
trouble,  went  back  to  his  chief  and  reported  the 
result  of  his  mission. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  it's  all  right,"  said  the  manager, 
after  hearing  him  out.  "  I  confess  I  had  my  sus- 
picions, for  Miss  Leslie  has  never  drawn  five 
hundred  all  at  once  from  her  current  account 
before.  I  am  sorry  I  doubted  the  young  man. 
Tell  the  cashier  to  attend  to  him  at  once  when 
he  calls." 

At  the  appointed  hour  Boy  came  into  the  bank, 
walking  slowly  and  feebly  and  looking  very  ill. 
The  cashier  greeted  him  smilingly  and  with  effusive 
civility. 

"  Just  ready,  sir !"  and  he  began  counting  out 
crisp  bank-notes  rapidly. 

Boy  leaned  on  the  counter,  looking  at  him. 

"  I  thought  you  said  there  was  some  formality?" 
he  began. 

"  Quite  right,  sir !     Yes,  so  there  was,  but  we 


311 


BOY. 

hurried  the  matter  by  sending  the  cheque  to  Miss 
LesHe  and  asking  her  if  it  was  all  right " 

Boy  took  a  deep,  sharp  breath. 

''And  she ?"    he  began. 

"  She  said  it  was  quite  correct.  You  see  we  were 
a  little  uncertain, — we  have  to  be  very  cautious  in 
banking  matters, sorry  to  have  caused  any  de- 
lay, I'm  sure.  Now  let  me  see, — three  hundred — 
two  fifties — fouf  hundred — fifty — twenty-five — 
another  twenty-five.  Kindly  look  through  the 
notes  before  leaving  the  counter." 

Boy  did  as  he  was  told  with  shaking  fingers. 

Then  he  folded  them  all  together  and  put  them 
in  his  pocket,  and  looked  at  the  cashier  very 
strangely  indeed. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  said. 

"  Good-morning." 

Boy  walked  to  the  heavy  swing  door  and  pulled 
it  open,  then  passed  through  and  was  gone,  the 
cashier  watching  him  till  he  had  disappeared. 

"  Curious — very  curious  !"  he  soliloquised. 
"  That  young  chap  looked  as  if  had  got  poison 
instead  of  bank-notes.     I  wonder  what's  up?" 

Often  did  that  wonder  affect  the  worthy  cash- 
ier. The  people  who  came  and  went  in  the  bank, 
with  money  and  without  it,  were  strange  enough 
in  their  various  expressions  of  countenance  and 
mannerisms  to  provide  many  a  student  with  sub- 
ject-matter for  thought, — still,  it  was  not  often  that 
so  young  a  lad  as  Boy  was  seen  there  with  such  a 


312 


BOY. 

whole  history  of  despair  and  shame  written  on  his 
face.  And  that  despair  and  shame  had  not  Hght- 
ened  with  his  possession  of  the  much-needed  and 
sorely  coveted  money, — it  had,  on  the  contrary, 
deepened  and  become  far  heavier  to  bear.  But  he 
had  now  made  up  his  mind  as  to  his  immediate 
course  of  action.  He  had  resolved  upon  it  in  the 
very  moment  that  the  cashier  had  handed  him  the 
bank-notes,  and  he  was  only  anxious  to  go  through 
with  his  intention  while  it  was  fresh  and  newly 
formed  in  his  mind,  lest  anything  should  make 
him  hesitate  or  falter.  He  went  back  straight  to 
his  lodgings,  and  there,  putting  all  the  bank-note^s 
into  one  large  envelope,  wrote  the  following 
letter : 

'■  DtiAR  GENEROUS  Miss  Letty  : — I  dou't  know 
what  to  say  to  you  for  your  kindness  and  your 
mercy  to  me,  which  is  so  much  more  than  I  de- 
serve; but  I  know  what  I  ought  to  do,  and  I  am 
doing  it  as  well  as  I  can.  I  send  you  back  here  all 
the  money  I  tried  to  get  by  the  wicked  fraud  of 
adding  another  figure  to  the  one  in  your  cheque, 
and  I  hope  you  will  try  and  forgive  me  for  my  at- 
tempted and  intended  theft.  I  don't  understand 
how  it  is  you  can  be  so  good  to  me  as  to  shield 
me  in  this  way,  but  your  great  mercy  has  made 
me  bitterly  ashamed  of  myself,  and  I  do  beg  your 
pardon  with  all  my  heart.  I  will  try  to  make 
amends  somehow,  so  that  you  shall  not  hear  any 


313 


BOY. 

bad  of  me  again.  God  bless  you  always,  dear  Miss 
Letty,  for  your  unexpected  and  most  heavenly 
kindness  to  your  wretched 

"  Boy. 
**  I  have  brought  this  letter  myself,  but  I  do  not 
come  in  as  I  could  not  bear  to  see  your  kind  face 
just  now." 

He  put  this  epistle  in  with  the  bank-notes  and 
sealed  the  envelope ;  then,  anxious  to  be  rid  of  the 
now  hateful  money  and  put  temptation  from  him 
away  as  far  as  possible,  he  took  a  hansom  and 
drove  to  Hans  Place.  The  servant  who  opened 
the  door  looked  pale  and  flurried,  and  her  eyes 
were  red,  as  if  she  had  been  crying. 

"  Give  this  to  Miss  Leslie,  please,"  he  said,  hold- 
ing out  the  packet. 

"  Miss  Leslie  is  very  ill,  sir,"  said  the  girl.  "  I 
do  not  think  she  will  be  able  to  read  any  letters 
to-day." 

Boy's  heart  almost  stood  still. 

"  Very  ill?     Since  when?" 

"  Since  this  morning,  sir.  She  was  taken  quite 
sudden-like." 

Boy  uttered  a  little  cry.  His  fault!  his  fault! 
If  his  old  friend  died,  it  would  be  his  fault ! 

"  Give  her  that,"  he  repeated,  sternly,  between 
his  set  teeth.  "  If  she  is  not  able  to  receive  it, 
give  it  to  Major  Desmond.  He  will  understand. 
And    when    Miss    Letty   gets   better,    if   she    can 


314 


BOY. 

hear  a  message,  will  you  say  that  Boy  left  his 
love?" 

The  servant  stared  at  the  pale,  eager  young  face 
and  the  pained,  sorrowful  eyes. 

"  '  Boy  left  his  love,'  "  she  repeated.  "  Oh, 
well,  sir,  wouldn't  you  like  to  come  in  a  minute, 
sir?" 

"  No!"  said  Boy,  almost  fiercely;  "  I'm  not  fit 
to  come  in!  I  am  a  thief  and  a  scoundrel.  But 
all  the  same — say  to  her  that  Boy  left  his  love!" 

He  rushed  away,  leaving  the  servant  panic- 
stricken,  gazing  after  him  with  the  sealed  packet 
for  Miss  Letty  in  her  hands. 

Hurrying  back  again  to  his  lodgings,  with  grief 
and  fury  raging  in  his  soul.  Boy  sat  down  for  a 
moment  to  think.  The  force  of  his  trouble  and 
the  mental  victory  he  had  gained  over  himself  in 
the  restoration  of  Miss  Letty's  money  had  cleared 
his  brain,  and  he  was  able  to  consider  his  position 
more  calmly  than  he  had  considered  it  before.  A 
sense  of  freedom  came  over  him.  He  had  shaken 
himself  out  of  a  net  of  crime  before  it  was  too  late, 
and  it  was  the  beautiful,  merciful,  angelic  spirit 
of  his  childhood's  friend,  Miss  Letty,  that  had 
saved  him !  When  she  had  the  power  to  ruin  him 
she  had  rescued  him,  and  for  this  he  resolved  to 
prove  himself  worthy  of  her  clemency!  x\fter  a 
little  meditation  he  wrote  a  long  letter  of  explana- 
tion to  Major  Desmond,  telling  him  the  whole  his- 
tory of  his  adventure  at  the  theatre  and  his  visit 
to  the  house  of  the  "  Marquis"  de  Gramont,  and 

315 


BOY. 

begging  him  to  say  the  best  he  could  for  him  to 
Miss  Letty. 

"  Tell  her,"  he  wrote,  "  that  the  horror  she  has 
saved  me  from,  shall  bring  out  whatever  good  stuff 
there  is  in  me,  if  any.  Please  do  not  come  to  see 
me,  for  I  could  not  bear  it.  And  do  not  send 
me  any  money,  because  I  could  not  bear  that  either. 
If  you  will  just  let  me  have  a  wire  saying  how  dear 
Miss  Letty  is  sometime  to-morrow,  that  is  all  I 
ask  of  you.  And  after  that,  both  of  you  forget 
me  till  you  hear  of  me  again. 

"  Yours, 

"  '  Boy.' 

"R.  D'Arcy-Muir." 

This  done,  he  wrote  a  note  to  the  "  Marquis" 
de  Gramont,  who  had  carefully  reminded  him  of 
his  address  that  very  morning.  The  note  was  as 
follows : 

"  Sir  : — I  have  placed  my  affair  with  you  in  the 
hands  of  my  old  friend.  Major  Desmond,  who  will 
enquire  into  the  exact  justice  of  my  debts  of  hon- 
our. 

*'  Yours  faithfully, 

"  R.  D'Arcy-Muir." 

Full  of  nervous  hurry  and  excitement,  he  posted 
these  letters,  and  could  hardly  sleep  all  night  for 


316 


BOY. 

wondering  what  the  answers  would  be.     The  next 
day  brought  him  first  of  all  a  wire. 

"  Keep  up  your  courage.  Miss  Letty  much 
better. 

"  Desmond.'* 
Later  on  came  a  letter. 

"  Dear  Boy  : — Yours  is  a  sad  and  very  common 
story,  and  this  isn't  the  time  for  reproaches.  Miss 
Letty,  who  is  an  angel,  never  told  me  what  had 
happened,  and  I  shall  never  mention  to  her  how 
you  were  trapped  into  De  Gramont's  little  den. 
Don't  trouble  yourself  about  this  '  marquis ;'  he 
is  no  more  a  marquis  than  I  am,  and  he  is  particu- 
larly wanted  to  attend  a  little  party  given  by  the 
police.  You  will  hear  no  more  of  your  '  honour- 
able' debts  in  that  quarter.  I  wish  you  would  be 
reasonable  and  let  me  come  and  see  you.  A  little 
talk  would  do  us  both  good,  and  I  might  be  able 
to  help  you  out  of  present  difficulties.  Keep  on  the 
square  and  everything  will  come  right. 
"  Yours  heartily, 

"  Desmond."' 

Boy  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  Miss  Letty  was 
better — thank  God  !  The  money  was  restored, — 
and  the  spectre  of  the  "  Marquis"  de  Gramont  was 
dwindling  and  dissolving  gradually  into  thin  air 
like  a  black  dream  following  on  a  bad  digestion. 
And  now — what  should  he  do?     One  step  more, 

317 


BOY. 

and  all  was  plain  sailing.  He  made  that  step  by 
writing  to  his  employer  and  setting  himself  free  of 
his  daily  business  as  a  clerk.  Then,  without  paus- 
ing to  think  any  more  about  it,  he  walked  rapidly 
down  to  a  certain  office  in  a  certain  quarter,  where 
there  were  certain  showy  bills  put  up  outside,  the 
chief  lettering  on  which  seemed  to  be  "  Her  Ma- 
jesty" in  very  large  capitals.  There,  stepping  in, 
he  addressed  himself  at  once  to  a  neat  and  well-set- 
up man,  in  smart  uniform,  who  was  at  that  mo- 
ment taking  his  "  rest"  in  rather  a  novel  way  by 
standing  very  bolt  upright  against  a  wall  and 
smoking. 

"  Are  you  the  recruiting  sergeant?"  said  Boy. 

"  I  am,  young  feller.    What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  in  particular,"  said  Boy,  shyly, 
with  a  sudden  smile  which  made  his  face  very 
captivating.    "  I  want  to  enlist,  that's  all !" 

The  sergeant  looked  him  up  and  down. 

"H'm!     You're  a  gentleman,  aren't  you?" 

"  Well,  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Boy,  with 
a  forced  laugh.  "  I'll  try  to  be  one  when  I'm  a 
soldier." 

Upon  which  the  sergeant  gave  him  such  a  heavy 
blow  of  approval  on  his  shoulder  that  he  almost 
fell  down  under  it. 

"1  like  that!"  he  said.  "That'll  do  for  me! 
Sound  in  wind  and  limb,  aren't  you  ?" 

"  I  think  so."  And  Boy,  warmed  and  encouraged 
at  heart  by  the  kindly  twinkle  of  the  sergeant's  keen 
eyes,  began  to  feel  almost  happy. 
318 


BOY. 

"  Right  you  are !  Come  along,  then !  Here's 
your  shilling,"  and  he  pressed  that  silver  coin, 
which  Boy  at  the  moment  desired  more  than  a  nug- 
get of  gold,  into  the  young  man's  hand.  "  Done! 
Come  along — name,  age,  and  all  the  etceteras — 
and  then  a  drink — and  God  save  the  Queen !" 

"  Amen !"  said  Boy,  as  he  followed  his  new  com- 
mander. 


319 


CHAPTER    XI  I. 

Two  years  had  fully  elapsed  since  the  incidents 
narrated  in  the  last  chapters,  and  Miss  Letty,in  spite 
of  the  doctor's  ominous  predictions,  was  still  alive, 
and,  as  she  expressed  it,  "  in  fairly  good  health  for 
a  woman  of  her  age."  Major  Desmond,  however, 
was  a  prey  to  constant  alarms,  and,  in  spite  of  gout 
and  rheumatism,  which  nowadays  afflicted  him, 
used  to  visit  her  constantly,  being  always  more  or 
less  in  terror  lest  she  should  be  snatched  away  sud- 
denly from  him  and  no  time  for  a  last  "  Good- 
bye." And  Miss  Letty,  with  her  always  swift  per- 
ception, saw  his  anxiety,  and  considered  him  very 
tenderly, — for  he,  though  he  did  not  seem  to  recog- 
nize it,  was  also  suffering  from  the  inevitable  aches 
and  pains  of  age,  though  he  held  himself  as  bravely 
as  ever.  He  wasn't  going  to  stoop  and  crawl  about 
with  a  stick, — no,  not  he !  And  he  bravely  demon- 
strated his  force  of  will  by  walking  from  his  club 
in  Piccadilly  to  Hans  Place  whenever  his  gouty 
foot  was  causing  him  the  most  acute  suffering. 
Other  men  in  his  plight  would  have  taken  a  cab, 
or  at  least  availed  themselves  of  a  crutch,  but  he 
did  neither.  And  there  was  so  much  practical  good 
sense  in  the  resistance  he  offered  to  the  attempted 
siege  of  illness,  that  he  cured  himself  of  threatened 
attack  many  a  time  and  saved  the  doctor's  bill. 

320 


BOY. 

Both  he  and  Miss  Letty  had  lost  sight  of  Boy. 
Since  the  morning  on  which  he  had  restored  the 
bank-notes,  and  had,  as  he  said,  "  left  his  love," 
he  had  disappeared  mysteriously  and  unaccount- 
ably. The  major  had  inquired  in  vain  for  him 
at  his  old  lodgings,  and  finally,  in  desperation,  had 
essayed  the  disagreeable  task  of  interviewing  his 
parents  on  the  subject  of  his  whereabouts.  But 
he  could  get  no  news  from  them.  The  "  Honour- 
able" Jim,  bolstered  up  in  his  chair,  with  drawn 
countenance  and  hollow  eyes,  was  scarcely  recog- 
nisable, save  when  his  son's  name  was  mentioned, 
and  then  he  straightway  woke  up  from  his  semi- 
lethargy  to  swear.  The  major  was  therefore  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  endeavouring  to  get  what 
information  he  could  out  of  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir, 
who,  breathing  hard  and  heavily,  like  a  porpoise, 
wept  profusely  at  his  first  question,  and  allowed 
her  tears  to  trickle  down  and  mix  with  the  various 
food  stains  on  the  dirty  front  of  the  ample  dressing- 
gown  in  w^hich  she  now  enveloped  her  elephantine 
proportions. 

"Oh,  don't  talk  to  me  about  Boy!"  she  said. 
"  Think  of  my  sufferings  as  a  mother !  The  dis- 
appointment I  have  had  to  endure  is  too  terrible 
for  words !  The  sacrifices  I  have  made  for  him ! 
The  trouble  I  have  had !" 

"  What  trouble?"  demanded  the  major,  sharply. 
"  You  have  done  about  as  little  for  him  as  anyone 
could,  I  fancy." 

Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  stopped  producing  her  tears, 

21  321 


BOY. 

and  stared  at  him  with  the  air  of  an  injured  Roman 
matron. 

"  Little!"  she  echoed.  "  I  have  done  everything 
for  him — everything!  Through  my  efforts,  when 
his  father  grudged  me  any  money  for  his  educa- 
tion, he  went  to  school  in  France " 

"  And  he'd  better  have  stayed  at  home,"  inter- 
polated the  major. 

"  Then  I  never  rested  day  or  night  till  I  could 
get  him  to  college;    and  then — and  then " 

"  Then  he  was  '  crammed,'  and  forgot  that  he 
was  anything  but  a  machine  to  take  in  facts  and 
grind  them  to  powder,  and  then  he  went  to  Sand- 
hurst, and  then  he  got  expelled  for  being  drunk, 
having  seen  his  father  drunk  before  him  all  his 
life.  Yes,  ma'am,  we  know  all  that.  But  what 
I'm  asking  you  now  is,  what's  become  of  him?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  D'Arcy- 
Muir,  beginning  to  be  snappish.  "  I  have  not 
seen  or  heard  anything  of  him  for  ages.  He  has 
deserted  his  mother !  He  is  ungrateful,  unnatural, 
and  cruel !  Sometimes  I  think  he  cannot  be  my 
son.  I'm  sure" — here  she  put  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes — "  the  stories  one  hears  of  changelings 
might  really  be  true,  for  Boy  was  never  the  same 
to  me  after  he  had  stayed  with  Miss  Letty." 

As  she  spoke  she  almost  screamed,  for  the 
major,  with  one  big  stride,  came  close  up  to  her 
and  glared  down  upon  her  like  a  figure  of  fury. 

"  Why — why,  you  miserable  woman !"  he  sud- 
denly burst  out.  "  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
322 


BOY. 

yourself!  You  dare  to  hint  anything  against  one 
of  the  finest  creatures  God  ever  made,  and  the 
best  friend  your  son  ever  had,  and  I'll — I'll  shake 
you!  I  will!  If  that  wretched  creature  inside, 
Jim,  whom  I  used  to  know  when  he  was  younger, 
had  shaken  you  long  ago  it  would  have  done  you 
and  him  a  world  of  good !  You  don't  know  any 
news  of  Boy,  don't  you?  Well,  /  do.  I  know 
this  much,  that  if  Miss  Letty  had  been  a  woman 
like  you,  that  unfortunate  young  fellow  you  have 
brought  into  the  world  would  be  serving  his  time 
in  prison  for — well,  never  mind  for  what.  But, 
with  all  his  faults  and  follies,  he  is  better  than  his 
mother.  If  I  had  my  way,  his  mother  should  hear 
a  thing  or  two.  Yes,  ma'am,  you  may  stare  at  me 
as  much  as  ever  you  like — I've  often  wanted  to 
speak  my  mind  to  you,  and  now  I've  done  it.  You 
were  never  fit  to  have  a  son.  You  never  knew 
what  to  do  with  him  when  you  got  him.  Your 
carelessness,  your  selfishness,  your  slovenliness, 
your  downright  d — d  idleness,  are  at  the  bottom 
of  a  good  deal  of  the  mischief  he  stumbled  into. 
There,  ma'am !  I've  said  what  I  think,  and  I 
feel  better  for  it.     Good-morning." 

And  before  Mrs.  D'Arcy-Muir  could  say  an- 
other word  he  abruptly  left  her,  and  she  heard  the 
street-door  shut  after  him  with  a  loud  bang.  Her 
husband  yelled  to  her  from  the  adjoining  room, — 

"What's  that?" 

She  went  to  him,  her  heavy  tread  shaking  the 
flooring  as  she  moved. 

323 


BOY. 

"  It's  that  horrible  old  Major  Desmond  just 
gone,"  she  said,  viciously.  "  He  has  been  most 
insulting!  He  actually  says  /  am  to  blame  for 
Boy's  turning  out  so  badly!" 

The  Honourable  Jim  began  to  laugh.  It  was 
not  a  pleasant  laugh,  and  the  nature  of  his  illness 
did  not  conduce  to  agreeable  facial  expression. 
But  what  latent  sense  of  humour  remained  in  him 
was  decidedly  awakened  by  his  wife's  indigna- 
tion. 

"You're  to  blame,  eh!  He  said  that?  Well, 
he's  right — so  you  are!     So  you  are!" 

"Jim!" 

And  over  her  fat  cheeks  her  little  eyes  peered  at 
him  with  a  look  of  amazement  and  wrath. 

"  I  mean  it,"  he  persisted,  thickly,  trying  to 
twist  his  poor  paralysed  tongue  to  distinct  utter- 
ance. "  You  haven't  been  fair  with  me  or  Boy," 
and  he  began  to  whimper  feebly.  "  The  house 
has  always  been  at  sixes  and  sevens ;  never  knew 
when  one  was  going  to  have  one's  bit  or  drop ;  no 
one  in  their  senses  would  ever  have  called  it  a 
home — and  you  never  tried  to  do  me  any  good. 
If  you  had,  I  might  not  be  lying  here  now.  Des- 
mond's right  enough.  Old  Dick  Desmond  was 
always  a  good  sort  of  thoroughgoing  chap.  He 
knows  what's  what.  He's  right — it  is  your  fault. 
God  knows  it  is !" 

His  head  fell  back  wearily  on  his  pillow,  and  his 
lack-lustre  eyes  rolled  restlessly  in  his  head,  as  if 
in  search  for  something  unattainable.  There  was 
324 


BOY. 

something  really  pitiable  in  the  wretched  man's 
helplessness  and  in  the  neglected  state  of  his  room, 
where  medicine-bottles,  cups,  and  glasses  were 
littered  about  in  confusion,  and  where  everything 
showed  carelessness  and  utter  disregard  of  the 
commonest  cleanliness  and  comfort.  But  no  touch 
of  compunction  moved  his  wife  to  any  conscious- 
ness of  regret  or  compassion.  On  the  contrary, 
she  assumed  an  almost  sublime  air  of  majestic 
tolerance  and  injured  innocence. 

"Oh,  of  course!"  she  said,  resignedly,  "of 
course  it's  my  fault!  I  ought  to  have  known  you 
would  say  that.  It's  the  way  of  a  man.  He  al- 
ways blames  the  woman  who  has  been  good  to 
him — who  has  waited  upon  him  hand  and  foot — 
who  has  worked  for  him  night  and  day — who 
has" — here  she  began  to  grow  hysterical — "  who 
has  loved  him — who  has  been  the  mother  of  his 
son — who  has  sacrificed  herself  entirely  to  her 
home!  Yes,  it  is  always  the  way — nothing  but 
ingratitude !  But  you  are  ill,  and  I  will  not  blame 
you.  Oh,  no,  Jim,  I'll  not  blame  you,  poor  man! 
You  will  be  sorry — sorry  for  being  so  cruel  to 
your  poor,  good  wife,  who  has  been  so  kind  to 
you." 

With  a  sort  of  fat,  chuckling  sob  the  estimable 
woman  retired — not  to  weep,  oh,  no !  but  merely 
to  eat  some  eggs  and  macaroni,  a  dish  to  which 
she  was  particularly  partial,  and  which  had  con- 
soled her  often  before  for  the  wrongs  inflicted 
on  her  as  the  chief  martyr  of  her  sex. 

325 


BOY. 

And  the  major  returned  to  Miss  Letty  with  the 
account  of  his  embassy,  whereat  the  gentle  soul 
laughed,  though  there  was  a  little  sadness  in  her 
laughter.  All  her  old  affection  for  Boy  as  a  child 
had  come  back  in  full  force  for  Boy  as  a  young 
man,  now  that  she  knew  all  the  story  of  his  griefs 
and  temptations.  For  after  the  affair  of  the  bank- 
notes the  major  had  judged  it  best  to  tell  her  of 
the  lad's  expulsion  from  Sandhurst,  and  when 
she  knew  everything,  her  pity  and  tenderness  for 
him  knew  no  bounds.  Her  whole  heart  went  out 
to  him,  and  she  had  but  one  wish — to  see  him 
again  and  lay  her  hands  in  a  farewell  blessing  on 
his  head.  "  Just  once  before  I  die,"  she  thought, 
for  she  knew  in  her  own  self  that  death  could  not 
be  far  off — "  just  to  kiss  him  and  say  I  understand 
how  he  was  tempted,  poor  fellow,  and  how  heart- 
ily I  forgive  him  and  pray  for  him." 

The  major  knew  of  this  secret  longing  of  hers, 
though  she  seldom  spoke  of  it,  and  it  was  in  his 
great  desire  to  gratify  her  that  he  sought  every- 
where for  some  clue  to  Boy's  whereabouts,  but 
in  vain.  A  police  raid  on  the  "  Marquis"  de  Gra- 
mont's  gambling-den  had  effectually  cleared  that 
rats'  nest  out  of  London,  so  there  were  no  diffi- 
culties left  there  by  means  of  which  Boy  might 
have  been  traceable.  Anxious  and  disturbed  in 
mind,  the  good  major  rambled  up  and  down  the 
Strand,  and  all  the  bye-streets  appertaining  there- 
to, under  the  vague  impression  that  he  should 
perhaps  find  Boy  reduced  to  selling  matches  or 
326 


BOY. 

boot-laces  at  a  corner,  or  coming  out  of  a  cheap 
eating-house, — "  for,"  said  the  major  feeHngly, 
"  he  will  have  to  get  a  dinner  somehow  or  some- 
where. One  of  the  chief  disadvantages  of  life  on 
this  earth  is  that  none  of  us  can  do  without  feed- 
ing. If  a  world  were  invented  where  the  crea- 
tures in  it  could  exist  simply  by  breathing  in  the 
air  and  drinking  in  the  light,  it  would  be  perfec- 
tion— there  would  be  no  cause  for  quarrelling, 
strife,  or  envyings  of  one  another,  though  I  ex- 
pect some  of  the  fashionable  ladies  would  even 
then  keep  things  pretty  lively  by  quarrelling  over 
their  lovers  and  their  gowns." 

Violet  Morrison  was  away  from  London  just 
at  this  time.  Her  course  of  study  in  surgical 
nursing,  followed  with  the  most  intense  and  pains- 
taking care,  had  made  her  an  invaluable  assistant 
to  two  or  three  of  the  greatest  surgeons  in  Lon- 
don, and  "  Nurse  Morrison,"  as  she  was  called, 
was  always  in  demand.  She  was  no  fancy  fol- 
lower of  her  profession.  She  had  not  taken  it  up 
for  the  express  purpose  of  flirting  with  the  doc- 
tors, and  inveigling  one  of  them  into  marrying 
her.  She  had,  however,  grown  into  a  very  beau- 
tiful woman,  and  many  a  clever  and  brilliant 
''  rising  man"  cast  longing  eyes  of  admiration 
at  her  fair  face  and  graceful  form  as  she  moved 
with  noiseless  step  and  soft,  pitying  eyes  through 
a  hospital  ward,  soothing  pain  by  her  touch  and 
inspiring  courage  by  her  smile.  But  she  set  her- 
self steadfastly  against  every  hint  of  love  or  mar- 

Z27 


BOY. 

riage,  and  never  swerved  for  an  hour  or  a  moment 
from  the  lines  of  work  and  duty  she  had  elected 
to  walk  in.  Her  only  personal  anxiety  was  for 
Miss  Letty,  and  willingly  would  she  have  stayed 
with  her  beloved  old  friend,  had  not  Miss  Letty 
herself  refused  to  be  '*  coddled,"  as  she  expressed 
it. 

''  If  you  don't  go  and  do  your  work,  child,  T 
shall  fancy  I  am  in  immediate  danger,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile,  "  and  I  shall  die  right  off  before  you 
have  time  to  look  round.  Go  where  your  duty 
calls  you, — I  shall  ever  be  so  much  better  and 
happier  for  knowing  that  you  are  where  you  ought 
to  be." 

"  I  ought  to  be  with  you,  I  think,"  said  Violet, 
tenderly.     "  My  first  duty  is  to  you." 

Miss  Letty  patted  her  hand  kindly. 

"  Your  first  duty  is  to  help  those  who  are  in 
instant  need,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  Be  quite  happy 
about  me, — I  am  really  feeling  much  better  and 
stronger,  and  I  don't  think  I  shall  go  away  from 
you  just  yet — not  quite  just  yet.  I  think  I  shall 
live" — and  her  eyes  softened  tenderly — "  to  see 
Boy  again." 

So  Violet  went,  though  not  till  after  consulta- 
tion with  her  uncle,  who  swore  vociferously  that 
if  she  remained  to  "  nurse"  Miss  Letty,  it  would 
be  all  up  with  her  at  once. 

"  She'll  get  it  into  her  head  that  she  can't  be 
left  alone,  that  she's  just  on  the  point  of  dropping 
down  dead,  and  I  don't  know  what  else  in  the  way 

328 


BOY. 

of  sickly  rubbish,"  he  said,  warmly.  "  Look  here, 
child,  I've  got  the  gout,  and  your  wiseacres  of 
doctors  tell  me  that  it  may  fly  to  my  heart  and 
do  for  me  in  a  minute.  Well,  all  I  say  is,  let  it! 
It  can't  do  any  more  when  it's  done.  But  be- 
cause I  have  to  be  dismissed  out  of  the  world  one 
way  or  the  other,  I'm  not  going  to  crawl  round 
on  sticks,  with  a  nurse  bobbing  about  after  me 
by  way  of  a  walking  advertisement  to  announce — 
'All's  up  with  this  chap!  Look  at  him  and  bid 
him  good-bye !'     Not  a  bit  of  it !" 

Violet  laughed. 

"  You  dear  uncle !     You  are  always  so  plucky !" 

"  Plucky !  There's  no  pluck  about  it ;  we've  all 
got  to  die, — and  when  the  time  comes,  let  us,  for 
heaven's  sake !  go  decently  and  in  order,  without 
making  a  fuss  about  it.  The  animals  show  us  a 
good  example — they  go  into  holes  and  corners  to 
die  in  order  not  to  distress  their  living  friends. 
That's  what  zve  ought  to  do,  if  we  were  not  so 
deuced  conceited  as  to  think  ourselves  the  most 
valuable  objects  in  all  creation.  Yet,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  there  are  a  good  many  horses  and  dogs 
who  are  superior  to  most  men.  No,  Violet,  don't 
you  bother  about  Miss  Letty.  I'll  take  care  of 
her.  She'll  live  all  the  longer  for  not  being  fussed 
over.  You  talk  of  pluck!  She's  twenty  times 
more  plucky  than  I  am,  and  we'll — we'll  both  make 
a  stand  against  the  final  enemy  together!" 

There  was  a  pathetic  note  in  the  major's  voice 
as  he  uttered  the  last  few  words,  and  Violet  felt 

329 


BOY. 

her  eyes  grow  suddenly  moist.  But  in  her  deep 
respect  for  the  fine  old  man's  personal  courage,  as 
well  as  for  his  fidelity  to  a  life-long  passion,  she 
forbore  to  utter  one  word  of  the  sympathy  which 
she  knew  would  be  unwelcome. 

And  time  went  on,  till  all  at  once  England  was 
thrilled  and  aroused  by  the  declaration  of  war  with 
the  Transvaal, — a  trumpet  note  which,  re-echoing 
through  the  whole  Empire,  called  into  action  the 
dormant  martial  spirit  of  all  the  men  who  love 
their  country  and  their  Queen.  Excitement  fol- 
lowed upon  excitement, — hurried  preparations  for 
battle — embarkations  of  troops — rumours,  now  of 
victory,  now  of  defeat, — and  all  the  world  was  astir 
with  eagerness  to  see  how  lion-hearted  England 
would  respond  to  the  sudden  and  difficult  demand 
made  upon  the  strength  of  her  military  power. 
Regiment  after  regiment  was  despatched  to  the 
front,  ship  after  ship  bore  away  sons,  brothers,  hus- 
bands, and  fathers  from  their  homes  and  families, 
some  to  come  back  again  loaded  with  honour  and 
victory,  some  never  to  return.  The  major  woke  up 
like  an  old  war-horse  who  hears  the  "  Reveille" 
sounded  in  the  darkness  of  his  stable,  and  almost 
forgot  his  gout  in  the  eagerness  with  which  he 
tramped  to  and  fro  from  the  War  Office  to  gather 
up  the  latest  news  of  friends  and  old  comrades-in- 
arms who  had  thrown  up  everything  to  go  to  the 
front  and  be  again  in  active  service. 

"  I  never  regretted  my  lost  youth  till  now,"  he 
said,   enviously,   to  his  old   friend,   Captain  Fitz- 

330 


BOY. 

gerald  Crosby,  who,  on  account  of  a  certain  skill  in 
the  management  of  some  special  form  of  gun,  was 
going  out  to  the  Cape.  "  Why,  God  bless  me,  Fitz, 
you  are  only  fifteen  years  younger  than  I  am!" 

"That's  true,"  said  Fitz;  "still,  fifteen  years 
count,  old  boy.  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  you  were 
going  with  me, — but  perhaps  you  would  not  care 
about  leaving  Miss  Letty." 

"  No,  you're  right,  I  shouldn't,"  said  the  major, 
promptly.  "  Fm  not  jealous  of  you — don't  you 
think  it !  I  wish  you  luck  and  a  late  chance  of 
promotion." 

And  when  Fitz  had  gone,  in  company  with  many 
others  whom  the  major  knew,  another  parting  took 
place  which  caused  the  old  man  a  very  decided 
twinge  of  pain,  and  almost  moved  him  to  urge  his 
own  personal  claims  against  those  of  duty.  One 
of  the  famous  surgeons  for  whom  Violet  had 
worked  so  well  was  leaving  for  hospital  work  at 
the  front,  and  made  it  a  particular  request  that 
"  Nurse  Morrison"  should  also  go  on  the  same 
steamer. 

"  We  don't  want  any  amateur  '  fancy'  nurses 
out  there,"  he  said,  explaining  the  position  to  the 
major,  who  heard  him  with  a  mingling  of  pride 
and  pain, — pride  that  his  niece's  skill  was  so  highly 
valued,  pain  at  the  idea  of  her  leaving  him, — ".we 
want  brave,  capable  women,  who  will  be  examples 
to  the  others,  and  who  really  mean  to  work.  There 
is  no  one  I  know  who  will  be  so  valuable  to  me  in 
my  operations   on  the  wounded   as   Nurse   Mor- 

33^ 


BOY. 

rison.  I  have  talked  to  her  about  it,  and  she  is 
quite  willing  to  go  if  you  give  her  leave." 

The  matter  had  to  be  decided  in  a  hurry,  and  so 
the  major,  with  a  somewhat  dismal  face,  confided 
it  all  to  Miss  Letty,  who  at  once  pleaded  eloquently 
that  Violet  might  be  permitted  to  undertake  the 
high  duties  offered  to  her. 

''  Let  her  go,  Dick,  by  all  means,"  she  said.  "  It's 
a  splendid  chance  for  her;  I  know  she  will  win 
the  highest  honours.  She  is  perfectly  fearless,  and 
she  may  help  to  save  many  a  valuable  life." 

"  But  you,  Letty,"  said  Desmond, — "  who's 
going  to  look  after  yoii?" 

Miss  Letty  smiled. 

"  I'm  all  right,  Dick.  I  have  my  maid,  and  if 
I  get  any  worse  than  I  am,  I  will  ask  my  old  Mar- 
garet to  come  over  from  Scotland  and  nurse  me. 
We  mustn't  be  selfish  in  our  old  age,  Dick, — we 
must  let  Violet  go.  Her  services  will  be  invalu- 
able; and  if  we  miss  her,  as,  of  course,  we  shall 
during  her  absence,  we  shall,  at  any  rate,  feel  we 
are  doing  our  little  best  towards  helping  our  brave 
soldiers  by  giving  our  dear  girl  to  their  cause." 

And  so  Violet  sailed  for  the  seat  of  war,  bid- 
ding her  uncle  and  Miss  Letty  good-bye  with  many 
tears,  forebodings,  and  private  griefs,  but  moved 
to  heroic  resolution  to  do  her  best  where  her  work 
was  so  strenuously  demanded.  The  moment  she 
arrived  at  the  Cape,  she  and  the  eminent  surgeon 
who  had  secured  her  services  were  sent  on  to  join 
the  forces  moving  towards  Colenso,  and  she  soon 


BOY. 

had  her  mind  as  well  as  her  hands  full  with  the 
instructions  she  received  as  to  the  interior  arrange- 
ments of  hospital  field  tents,  and  the  preparations 
for  what  has  been  rightly  termed  the  "  merciful 
cruelty"  of  the  operating  tables. 

On  the  eve  of  the  now  famous  battle  of  Colenso 
she  stood  at  the  entrance  of  one  of  these  tents, 
pale  but  resolute,  gazing  out  into  space,  her  heart 
strangely  heavy,  her  eyes  burning  with  the  heat 
of  the  dry,  dusty  air,  and  her  whole  soul  oppressed 
with  premonitory  forebodings.  Danger  and  death 
seemed  very  near,  and  though  cheerfulness  was 
one  of  her  qualities  as  a  nurse,  she  found  it  diffi- 
cult on  this  particular  night  to  shake  off  the  gloom 
and  dread  which,  like  a  black  storm-cloud,  steadily 
darkened  down  over  her  soul.  She  tried  to  think  of 
all  the  things  connected  with  her  work, — of  the  field 
hospital  train,  which  she  had  walked  through  from 
end  to  end  at  the  request  of  her  commanding  sur- 
geon, examining  everything,  and  admiring  the 
forethought  and  care  with  which  so  many  comforts 
had  been  provided  for  the  coming  wounded.  The 
coming  wounded !  A  faint  shudder  ran  through 
her  frame.  How  un-Christian,  how  terrible  it 
seemed,  that  shot  and  shell  should  be  used  to  tear 
poor  human  beings  to  pieces  for  a  quarrel  over 
a  bit  of  land,  so  much  gold,  or  a  difference  as  to 
the  gain  or  loss  of  either. 

"  If  the  politicians  who  work  up  wars  could  only 
realise  the  true  horror  of  bloodshed,  they  would 
surely  be  more  careful,"  she  thought.     "  It  is  ter- 

333 


BOY. 

rible  to  be  waiting  here  for  the  bodies  of  the  poor 
fellows,  mangled  and  bleeding,  who  have  to  suffer 
the  most  frightful  agonies  just  at  the  command 
of  governments  sitting  safe  in  their  easy-chairs." 

"Thinking  of  home,  Nurse  Morrison?"  said  a 
cheery  voice,  and  she  looked  up  to  see  the  famous 
surgeon  she  served  addressing  her,  "  or  of  the 
coming  Christmas?" 

"  Neither,  sir.  I  was  thinking  of  the  cruelty  of 
war." 

"  It  is  a  relic  of  barbarism,"  said  the  great  man, 
the  while  he  peered  into  the  hospital  tent  and  saw 
that  things  were  as  he  would  have  them.  "  In- 
deed, it  is  almost  the  only  vestige  left  to  us  of  the 
Dark  Ages.  The  proper  way  for  civilised  nations 
to  behave  in  a  difficulty  is  to  submit  to  peaceable 
arbitration.  War — especially  nowadays — is  a  mere 
slaughter-house,  and  the  soldiers  are  the  poor  sheep 
led  to  the  shambles.  The  real  nature  of  the  thing 
is  covered  up  under  flying  flags  and  the  shout  of 
patriotism,  but,  as  a  matter  of  stern  fact,  it  is  a 
horrible  piece  of  cowardice  for  one  nation  to  try 
murdering  another  just  to  see  which  one  gets  its 
way  first." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  as  I  do,"  said  Violet,  her 
eyes  shining.  "  It  is  surely  better  to  serve  Queen 
and  Country  by  the  peaceful  arts  and  sciences  than 
by  killing  men  wholesale." 

The  surgeon  looked  at  her  quizzically. 

"  Yes,  nurse,  but  you  must  remember  that  the 
arts  and  sciences  are  very  seldom  rewarded,  where- 

334 


BOY. 

as  if  you  kill  a  few  of  your  human  brethren  you 
get  notice  and  promotion.  Don't  let  us  talk  about 
it.  We  must  do  as  we  are  told.  And  when  the 
poor  chaps  are  shot  at  and  battered  about,  we  must 
try  to  mend  them  up  as  well  as  we  can.  You've 
got  everything  very  nice  in  there — very  nice !  Now 
oblige  me,  nurse,  by  trying  to  rest,  for  from  what 
I  hear  you  will  be  actively  wanted  to-morrow." 

He  nodded  and  went  his  way.  Accustomed  to 
obedience,  Violet  lay  down  on  her  little  tent-bed, 
and  before  she  closed  her  eyes  in  sleep  prayer  fer- 
vently for  her  uncle  and  her  "  darling  Miss  Letty." 

"I  wonder  how  she  is?"  she  thought,  "and  I 
wonder  if  she  has  yet  heard  anything  of  Boy?" 

The  morning  broke  clear  and  calm  over  the  dis- 
tant heights  called  Drakensberg,  and  an  intense  heat 
poured  down  from  the  cloudless  sky,  making  the 
very  ground  quite  burning  to  the  tread.  There 
was  not  a  breath  of  air,  and  the  scarcity  of  water 
made  it  impossible  to  cool  the  tents  by  ordinary 
means.  Violet  awoke  to  the  thunderous  crash  of 
the  British  naval  guns  opening  fire  on  Fort  Wylie. 
As  dawn  deepened  into  day,  the  bombardment  grew 
faster  and  more  furious,  but  no  response  came  from 
the  hidden  enemy.  For  some  time  storms  of  shell 
and  shrapnel  poured  on  in  their  destructive  course 
without  any  apparent  result,  till  all  at  once  one  shot 
crashed  fiercely  from  the  hills  behind  Colenso.  This 
was  followed  by  an  appalling  roar  of  guns  and  a 
deluge  of  fire  from  the  Boer  line  of  defence,  and 
the  fray  began  in  deadly  earnest.     Sick  and  ter- 

335 


BOY. 

rifled  at  first  by  the  hideous  din,  Violet  instinctively 
put  her  hands  to  her  ears,  and  sat,  with  one  or  two 
of  the  other  nurses,  well  within  the  first  field  hos- 
pital tent,  waiting  for  she  knew  not  what.  Once 
the  great  surgeon  looked  in,  pale  with  excitement. 

"  Be  ready,  all  of  you !"  he  said,  briefly.  "  This 
is  deadly  work  !"    And  he  was  gone. 

"  Are  you  not  afraid?"  asked  one  of  the  nurses, 
whispering  to  Violet. 

"  Afraid?"  she  answered.  "  Oh,  no,  not  afraid, 
only  sorry, — sorry  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul 
for  what  these  poor  soldiers  will  have  to  suffer.  I 
am  thinking  of  them  all  the  while — not  of  my- 
self." 

The  hammering  of  the  guns  continued,  and  far 
away,  from  the  heights,  invisible  cannon  thundered 
and  boomed.  As  the  day  advanced  the  combat 
grew  more  closely  contested,  and  wounded  men 
were  beginning  to  be  rapidly  carried  to  the 
"  donga,"  or  shelter,  at  the  rear  of  the  British 
forces.  Disaster  followed  disaster,  and  presently  a 
word  was  whispered  that  turned  the  hearts  of  the 
waiting  women  in  the  tents  cold — "  defeat."  De- 
feat?— for  the  British?  Surely  there  was  no  such 
possibility  !  Defeat !  While  they  were  whispering 
together  in  low,  awe-struck  voices,  the  great  sur- 
geon suddenly  entered  with  some  of  his  assistants, 
his  sleeves  rolled  up,  his  whole  manner  emphati- 
cally declaring  work — and  work,  too,  of  the 
promptest  and  smartest  character.  Violet  moved 
at  once  to  his  side. 

336 


BOY. 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  and — you  must  not 
shrink!  You  will  see  some  horrible  sights.  Are 
you  prepared?" 

"  Quite !"  she  replied,  tranquilly.  He  gave  one 
glance  at  her  calm  face  and  steadfast  eyes,  nodded 
approvingly,  and  went  on  with  his  preparations.  A 
young  lieutenant  suddenly  rushed  in. 

"  They've  shot  the  colonel !"  he  exclaimed  wildly. 
"  He  wouldn't  leave  the  guns.  They  wanted  him 
to,  but  he  said,  '  Abandon  be  damned !  We  never 
abandon  guns !'  "     And  away  he  rushed  again. 

On  went  the  crash  of  the  Maxims  behind  the 
Boer  trenches;  the  earth  was  torn  up  in  every  di- 
rection by  the  bursting  of  lyddite  shells ;  dead  and 
wounded  were  brought  in  by  their  comrades,  or 
carried  on  ambulances  by  the  Army  Medical  Corps. 
The  nurses  were  soon  more  than  busy.  Violet 
Morrison  did  her  best  to  soothe  the  frantic  ravings 
of  many  of  the  men  who,  growing  delirious  with 
pain,  fancied  themselves  still  fighting  on  the  field, 
and  filled  the  air  with  their  shoutings — "  Look  to 
the  guns !  Splendid  ! — splendid  work !  Don't 
leave  the  guns !"  And  the  hospital  tent  she  con- 
trolled, so  quiet  and  orderly  some  hours  previously, 
was  now  transformed  into  a  scene  of  breathless 
horror  and  interest. 

The  hot,  suffocating  day  went  on,  till,  as  the 
afternoon  lengthened  towards  evening,  there  came 
the  appalling  news  that  the  young  and  gallant  Lieu- 
tenant Roberts,  the  only  son  of  one  of  the  most 
heroic  of  English  generals,  had  been  killed  in  g, 
22  337 


BOY. 

brave  attempt  to  rescue  the  guns.  This  awful  fatal- 
ity seemed  to  create  something  of  a  panic  among 
the  bravest;  some  of  the  steadiest  heads  lost  ac- 
count of  what  they  were  doing  for  the  moment, 
and  by  a  fatal  forgetfulness  on  the  part  of  the  staff 
orders  were  never  given  to  the  Devons  and  Scots 
Fusiliers  to  leave  the  "  donga"  where  they,  with 
many  wounded,  were  sheltered.  Faithful  to  their 
duty,  these  unfortunate  and  valiant  men  remained 
where  they  were,  waiting  till  they  were  told  to  move, 
with  the  dire  result  that  as  the  evening  closed  in 
the  enemy  crossed  the  river  and  treacherously  sur- 
rounded them  under  cover  of  the  white  flag.  Cruel 
slaughter  followed;  but  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
fire  and  the  falling  men,  a  young  officer  on  horse- 
back suddenly  dashed  out  from  behind  a  hillock, 
galloping  with  all  his  might  and  bearing  a  wounded 
comrade  across  his  saddle.  A  rain  of  shots  greeted 
his  appearance,  but  he  appeared  to  bear  a  charmed 
life,  for  he  raced  on  and  on  through  the  hail  of 
bullets,  and  never  stopped  till  he  reached  the  first 
field  hospital  tent,  where  his  horse  suddenly  reeled 
and  fell  dead,  bringing  himself  and  his  woimded 
burden  to  the  ground. 

Some  of  the  medical  staff  were  round  him  in  an 
instant,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  get  breath  he  spoke : 

"  Fm  not  hurt,"  he  explained,  "  but  this  chap  is. 
I  found  him  wounded,  and  a  rascal  Boer  making 
a  barricade  of  his  body  to  hide  himself  behind 
while  he  fired  at  our  men.  I  shot  the  Boer  and  took 
away  this  fellow;  he's  a  young  private — Fm  afraid 

338 


BOY. 

he's  done  for.  I  should  hke  to  know  who  he  is,  for 
he  gave  a  sort  of  cry  when  I  took  hold  of  him,  and 
called  me  '  Alister,'  and  swooned  right  off.  Alis- 
ter's  my  name,  so  he  must  know  me." 

He  shook  himself,  like  a  young  lion,  free  of  dust, 
and  wiped  away  the  blood  that  was  trickling  from 
a  small  scar  in  his  cheek.  His  wish  that  the  com- 
rade he  had  rescued  should  be  attended  to  at  once 
was  gratified  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  as  the  sur- 
geon bared  the  terrible  wounds  of  the  insensible 
mangled  human  creature  before  him  he  shook  his 
head. 

"  No  hope !"  he  said ;  it's  no  use  operating  here. 
It  would  only  prolong  the  poor  fellow's  agony. 
He's  coming  to,  though.  Do  you  think  he  knows 
you?" 

"  V/ell,  my  name's  McDonald,"  said  the  young 
officer, — "  Alister  McDonald.  My  father's  in  the 
Gordon  Highlanders.  And  this  chap  called  me 
Alister.  Let  me  have  a  look  at  him.."  He  came 
up  to  the  side  of  the  wounded  soldier,  who  was 
gradually  returning  to  consciousness  vv^ith  heavy, 
shuddering  breaths  of  pain,  and  looked  long  and 
earnestly  in  his  face.  Then  he  gave  a  sharp  ex- 
clamation,— 

"  By  Jove !    it's  Boy !" 

Violet  Morrison  heard  the  cry,  and  turned 
swiftly. 

"Boy!"  she  exclaimed,  and  came  forward,  her 
lips   apart,    her   whole   frame   trembling.     Alister 


339 


BOY. 

McDonald  looked  at  her  in  surprise  and  admira- 
tion. 

"Do  you  know  him?"  he  said.  "I've  never 
seen  him  since  he  was  a  little  chap,  but  I  re- 
member his  face  quite  well.  I  don't  know  how 
he  comes  to  be  a  private,  though.  I  think  it  must 
be  the  same  fellow.  His  name  is  Robert  D'Arcy- 
Muir 

But  Violet,  bending  down  over  the  poor,  shat- 
tered frame  of  the  dying  man,  quickly  recognised, 
through  the  trickling  blood  and  clammy  dews  of 
fever  heat,  the  delicate,  refined  features  and  clus- 
tering fair  locks  which  had  once  been  the  fond  ad- 
miration of  one  of  the  sweetest  women  in  the  world, 
and,  despite  all  her  efforts  at  self-control,  a  low  sob 
escaped  her. 

"  Oh,  my  darling  Miss  Letty !"  she  whispered. 
"Oh,  Boy!" 

Young  Alister  McDonald  heard  her. 

"Miss  Letty!"  he  echoed  with  quick  interest. 
"  Oh,  then  it  must  be  Boy.  He  stayed  with  her 
up  in  Scotland  at  a  house  just  opposite  my 
father's " 

The  surgeon  raised  a  warning  finger,  and  he  was 
silent.  Boy  opened  his  eyes,  dimly  blue,  and  slowly 
glazing  over  with  a  dark  film,  and  looked  up  in 
the  face  of  "  Nurse  Morrison." 

"Have  we  won?"    he  asked,  faintly. 

The  surgeon  laid  his  firm,  kind  hand  upon  the 
fitfully  beating  pulse. 

"  Don't  fret ! — we  shall  win !"  he  said. 
340 


BOY. 

Boy  gazed  blankly  up  from  his  straight  pallet 
bed. 

"  Shall  we? — I  don't  know — it's  all  defeat — de- 
feat— defeat ! — and  they've  got  the  guns  ! — by 
treachery.     Where's  Alister?" 

"  Here !"  said  the  young  lieutenant,  advancing. 
"  Cheer  up,  old  chap !" 

"  I  knew  it  must  be  you,"  said  Boy,  trying  to 
stretch  out  his  hand.  "  When  you  shot  that  Boer 
coward — and  took  me  up  on  your  horse — I  knew ! 
— Alister  all  over! — You  were  always  like  that — 
about  fighting  the  enemies  of  England — do  you 
remember?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  and  Alister  affectionately 
touched  that  feebly  groping  hand.  "  Don't  you 
worry!     It's  all  right!" 

"Ah,  you've  done  something  brave — already!" 
murmured  Boy.  "  You  always  said  you  would — 
you  wanted  to  be  a  hero,  and  you've — you've  be- 
gun! I  wanted  to  do  something  great,  too — for 
Miss  Letty's  sake " 

His  voice  sank.  Moved  by  a  passionate  wish 
to  rouse  him  once  more,  Violet  Morrison  suddenly 
put  her  arms  round  him  as  he  lay  and  said 
clearly, — 

"Boy!" 

He  stared  at  her,  and  a  little  smile  crept  round 
his  mouth. 

"  Boy,"  she  went  on  sobbingly,  "  can  you  hear 
me — can  you  understand?" 

He  made  a  faint  sign  of  assent. 
341 


BOY. 

"  I  know  Miss  Letty,"  she  went  on,  in  her  sweet, 
thrilling  tones,  "  and  you  have  seen  me,  and  I  have 
seen  you,  only  you  don't  remember  me  just  now. 
Poor  Boy !  I  know  Miss  Letty,  and  I  know  how 
she  loves  you  and  wants  to  see  you  again." 

The  smile  grew  sweeter  on  the  poor,  parched 
lips. 

"  Does  she?"  His  voice  seemed  to  come  from  a 
long  way  off,  so  faint  and  feeble  it  had  grown. 
"Ah!  But  I  must  do  something  great — and  she 
will  forgive  me " 

'■'  She  has  forgiven  you,"  said  Violet.  "  Oh 
Boy ! — dear  Boy ! — try  to  understand !" 

A  grey  shadow  fell  warningly  on  his  features, 
but  he  still  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Violet. 

"  Does — she — know?" 

"  She  knows — she  knows !"  answered  Violet, 
unable  now  to  restrain  her  fast-falling  tears. 
"  She  knows  how  hard  everything  was  for  you — 
yes,  dear  Boy,  she  knows ! — and  she  loves  you  just 
as  dearly  now  as  when  you  were  a  little  child." 

A  grave  peace  began  to  compose  and  soften  his 
face,  as  though  it  were  touched  by  some  invisible 
sweet  angel's  hand. 

"  Tell  her — that  I  enlisted — to  get  a  chance — 
of  making  amends — doing  something  good — brave 
— to  make  her  proud  of  me, — ^but  it's  too  late  now 
— too  late " 

A  terrible  convulsion  seized  him,  and  the  sharp 
agony  of  it  caused  him  to  spring  half  upright. 
The  surgeon  caught  him  and  held  him  fast.     He 

342 


BOY. 

•Stared  straight  before  him,  his  eyes  shining  out 
with  an  almost  supernatural  brightness;  then  all 
the  light  in  them  suddenly  faded,  the  lids  drooped, 
and  he  sank  back  heavily.  Violet  put  her  arms 
round  him  once  more,  and  drew  the  fallen  head, 
disfigured  and  bleeding,  to  her  bosom,  weeping  and 
murmuring  still, — 

"Boy!— Oh,   Boy!" 

"It's  all  right!"  he  said  dreamily.  "All  for- 
given— all  right !  Don't  cry.  Tell  Miss  Letty 
not  to  cry.     Tell  her — Boy — Bo}^  left  his  love !" 

An  awed  silence  followed,  and  then  young  Alis- 
ter  McDonald,  with  a  tenderness  which,  though 
he  knew  it  not,  was  destined  to  deepen  into  a  hus- 
band's life-long  devotion  later  on,  drew  the  weep- 
ing Violet  gently  aside  that  she  might  give  her 
tears  full  vent,  while  the  surgeon  reverently  drew 
a  covering  over  the  quiet  face  of  the  dead. 

¥ 

At  home  in  England  and  by  the  whole  world 
the  news  of  the  battle  of  Colenso  and  the  capture 
of  the  British  guns  was  received  with  incredulity 
and  dismay.  Throngs  of  people  crowded  the  War 
Office,  clamouring  for  news,  pouring  out  enquiries 
and  lamentations,  reading  the  terrible  list  of  cas- 
ualties, and,  while  reading,  scarcely  believing  what 
their  own  eyes  beheld.  Major  Desmond,  furious 
at  the  mere  idea  of  any  disaster  to  the  British  arms, 
stood  reading  the  list  without  half  understanding 
what  he  saw,  so  bewildered  and  stunned  was  his 
mind  with  the  cruel  and  unexpected  nature  of  the 

343 


BOY. 

dispatches  from  the  front,  till  all  at  once  he 
saw, — 

"  Captain  Fitzgerald  Crosby.     Killed." 

He  staggered  back  as  though  he  had  received 
a  blow. 

"  What,  Fitz  ? — poor  old  Fitz  ?  Gone  so  soon  ? 
No,  surely  not  possible!" 

He  read  the  announcement  again  and  again,  feel- 
ing quite  sick  and  giddy,  and  his  eyes,  wandering 
up  and  down  the  column,  suddenly  fell  on  the  name, 
"  D'Arcy-Muir." 

"  Robert  D'Arcy-Muir,   private.     Killed." 

"  Now,  wait  a  bit,"  said  the  major,  sternly  apos- 
trophising himself.  "  This  won't  do !  You're 
dreaming,  old  man !  It's  no  good  fancying  one- 
self in  a  nightmare.  Robert  D'Arcy-Muir, — pri- 
vate— in  what  regiment? — Scots  Fusiliers.  Now 
let  me  see !" 

He  went  straight  to  one  of  the  chief  authorities 
at  the  War  Office,  a  man  whom  he  knew  intimately 
and  who  would  be  most  likely  to  help  him. 

"  Robert  D'Arcy-Muir,  private,  Scots  Fusiliers? 
Curious  you  should  ask  me  about  him ! — his  name 
came  under  my  notice  quite  by  chance  two  years 
ago.  Yes,  I  remember  the  case  quite  well.  He 
was  the  only  son  of  an  officer  of  good  family, 
Captain  the  Honourable  D'Arcy-Muir.  He  was 
at  Sandhurst,  but,  unfortunately,  got  expelled  for 
being  drunk  and  disorderly.  He  told  his  story,  it 
appears,  quite  frankly  when  he  enlisted,  and  his 
honesty  stood  him  rather  in  good  stead.     He  was 

344 


BOY. 

quite  a  favourite  with  the  regiment,  I  beheve. 
Kihed,  is  he?  And  you  knew  him?  Sorry,  I'm 
sure.  Will  I  see  that  his  parents  are  informed? 
Certainly.  Have  you  the  address  ?  Thanks !  They 
didn't  know  he  had  enlisted  ?  Odd !  They  couldn't 
have  cared  much.  I  suppose  they  dropped  him 
when  he  was  expelled.  Good-morning!  I'm 
afraid  you've  had  a  shock.  These  are  trying  times 
for  everyone." 

And  the  major's  informant  shook  hands  with 
him  kindly  and  turned  to  other  matters,  for  busi- 
ness was  crowding  his  hours  of  time,  and  there 
was  more  than  enough  for  him  to  do.  Desmond 
went  out  of  his  presence,  weary,  broken  down, 
and,  as  it  were,  stricken  old  for  the  first  time. 
The  curt  and  sudden  announcement  of  the  death 
of  his  old  chum  "  Fitz"  had  overwhelmed  him, 
and  now  the  certainty  of  Boy's  death  as  well,  a 
death  so  swift,  so  tragic,  so  far  away  from  home, 
made  him  shudder  with  fear  and  horror  as  he 
thought  of  Miss  Letty.  She  had  been  very  ailing 
since  Violet  had  gone  to  South  Africa,  and  yield- 
ing to  the  major's  entreaties  she  had  sent  for  old 
Margaret,  her  former  faithful  attendant.  And 
Margaret  had  come  at  once,  and  now  scarcely  ever 
left  her.  To  Margaret  she  talked  constantly  of 
Boy,  and  the  hopes  she  had  of  seeing  him  again — 
hopes,  alas !  that  were  now  to  be  completely  and 
forever  destroyed. 

"Shall  I  tell  her?"  thought  the  major  wo- 
fully,  "  or  shall  I  keep  it  secret  for  a  little  while? 
345 


BOY. 

But  if  I  do  not  speak,  his  parents  will  be  sure  to 
write  and  inform  her.  Nothing  would  please 
that  woman  D'Arcy-Muir  more  than  to  frighten 
her  with  a  big  black-bordered  envelope.  I  think 
I'd  better  try  and  break  it  to  her  gently.  Poor 
Fitz!  He's  got  his  promotion!  Well,  I  suppose 
it's  the  way  he  would  have  liked  best  to  die  if 
he'd  been  given  a  choice.  But  Boy — so  young! 
Poor  fellow — poor  little  chap ! — with  mettle  in 
him  after  all !  Wasted  life,  wasted  hope,  wasted 
love — all  a  waste!  God  knows  I've  done  my  best 
to  keep  a  stout  heart,  but,  upon  my  soul,  life  is  a 
sad  and  cruel  business !" 

With  slow  and  lagging  footsteps  he  made  his 
reluctant  way  to  Hans  Place  and  to  Miss  Letty's 
always  bright  house,  though  it  was  scarcely  so 
bright  now  as  it  used  to  be,  for  the  hand  of  its 
gentle  mistress  was  not  so  active  and  her  super- 
vision was  not  so  careful  and  vigilant.  And  to  the 
major's  deeply  afflicted  mind  the  fact  that  some  of 
the  blinds  were  down  impressed  him  with  an  un- 
comfortable sense  of  gloom. 

"  Looks  as  if  she  were  mourning  for  Boy  al- 
ready," he  murmured,  as  he  rang  the  bell. 

Margaret  opened  the  door. 

"How  is  Miss  Letty?" 

"  Well,  sir,  she  was  a  bit  anxious  last  night 
and  low  in  her  spirits,  but  this  morning  she  woke 
up  quite  bright  and  bonnie-like — more  like  her  old 
self  than  she's  been  for  many  a  day.     And  she 


346 


BOY. 

said  to  me,  '  Margaret,  I  think  I  shall  hear  news 
of  Boy  to-day.'  " 

The  major  gave  a  sigh  that  was  more  a  groan. 

"She  said  that?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  'deed  she  did.  But  you're  lookin' 
wan  and  weary  yourself,  sir.  I  hope  there's  no 
bad  news " 

The  major  interrupted  her  by  a  grave  gesture. 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  Just  in  the  morning-room  as  usual,  sir,  read- 
ing. I  left  her  there  an  hour  ago, — she  had  some 
letters  to  write,  she  said, — and  she  was  just  as 
bright  and  cheery  as  could  be,  an'  a  little  while 
since  I  peeped  in  and  she  was  sitting  by  the  fire 
wi'  a  book " 

"  All  right,  I'll  go  to  her.  If  I  want  you,  I'll 
call." 

He  entered  the  morning-room  with  a  very  quiet 
step.  There  was  a  bright  fire  sparkling  in  the 
grate,  and  Miss  Letty  was  seated  beside  it  in  her 
arm-chair,  with  a  book  on  her  knee,  her  back 
turned  towards  him.  Her  favourite  bird  was 
singing  prettily  in  its  cage,  pecking  daintily  now 
and  then  at  the  bit  of  sugar  she  daily  gave  it  with 
her  own  hands.  The  major  coughed  gently. 
Miss  Letty  did  not  stir.  Somewhat  surprised  at 
this,  he  advanced  a  little  further  into  the  room. 

"Letty!" 

No  answer. 

"My  God!" 

He  sprang  to  her  side. 

347 


BOY. 

"  Letty ! — Letty  dear !  Letty !  Not  dead ! — 
Oh  Letty,  Letty! — Not  dead." 

A  smile  was  on  her  sweet  old  face,  her  eyes 
were  closed.  The  great  Book  resting  on  her  knee 
was  the  Book  which  teaches  us  all  the  way  to 
heaven,  and  her  little,  thin,  white  hand,  with  its 
diamond  betrothal  ring  sparkling  upon  it,  lay  cold 
and  stiff  upon  the  open  page.  Overcome  by  too 
great  an  awe  for  weeping  or  loud  clamour  in  the 
presence  of  this  simple  yet  queenly  majesty  of 
death,  her  faithful  lover  of  many  years  knelt 
humbly  down  to  read  the  words  on  which  that 
hand  rested. 

"  Peace  I  leave  with  you, — My  peace  I  give 
unto  you, — not  as  the  world  giveth,  give  I  unto 
you!" 

And,  kneeling  still,  he  reverently  kissed  that 
dear,  loyal,  pure  little  hand, — once  and  twice  for 
the  sake  of  the  slain  "  Boy"  lying  at  rest  in  his 
South  African  grave, — once  and  yet  again  for  his 
own  deep  love  of  the  Angel  gone  back  to  her  na- 
tive home  with  God,  and  murmured, — 

"Better  so,  Letty!     Better  so!" 


THE    END. 


348 


By  Marie  Corelli. 


Barabbas : 

A  Dream  of  the  World's  Tragedy. 
i2mo.     Red  buckram,  ^i.oo. 

During  lis  comparatively  brief  existence  this  remarkable  book  has  been 
translated  into  French,  German,  Swedish,  Hindostani,  and  Gujerati. 
In  Eni^land  and  America,  the  phenomenal  demand  /or  the  work  still 
exhausts  edition  after  edition  in  rapid  succession. 

"  Tragic  intensity  and  imaginative  vigor  are  the  features  of  this  powerful 
tale." — Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"A  book  which  aroused  in  some  quarters  more  violent  hostility  than  any 
book  of  recent  years.  By  most  secular  critics  the  authoress  was  accused  of  bad 
taste,  bad  art,  and  gross  blasphemy;  but,  in  curious  contrast,  most  of  the  religious 
papers  acknowledged  the  reverence  of  treatment  and  the  dignity  of  conception 
which  characterized  the  work." — London  Athenceum. 


The  Sorrows  of  Satan  ; 

Or,  The  Strange  Experience  of  one  Geoffrey 
Tempest,   Millionaire. 

WITH    FRONTISPIECE   BY    VAN    SCHAICK. 

1 2mo.      Red  buckram ,  ^1.50. 

"  A  very  powerful  piece  of  work.  A  literary  phenomenon,  novel,  and  even 
sublime." — Review  of  Reviews. 

"She  is  full  of  her  purpose.  Dear  me,  how  she  scathes  English  society! 
She  exposes  the  low  life  of  high  life  with  a  ruthless  pen.  The  sins  of  the  fashion- 
able world  made  even  Satan  sad ;  they  were  more  than  he  could  bear,  poor  man ! 
The  book  is  lively  reading." — Chicago  Tribune. 


Cameos. 

i2mo.     Red  buckram,  $1.00. 

"  Marie  Corelli  possesses  a  charm  as  a  writer  that  perhaps  has  never  been 
better  displayed  than  in  her  recent  work,  '  Cameos.'  " — Burlington  Hawk-Eye. 

"  As  long  as  Miss  Corelli  can  write  stories  like  these  she  will  not  lack  readers. 
In  this  volume  she  gives  new  and  convincing  proofs  of  versatility,  spirit,  tender- 
ness, and  power." — Chicago  Tribune. 


J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,   PHILADELPHIA. 


Bohemian  Paris  of  To-Day. 

Written  by  W.  C,   MORROW, 

from  Notes  by  EDOUARD    CUCUEL. 

Illustrated  with  one  hundred  and  six  pen  drawings  by  Edouard  Cucuel. 
Cloth,  gilt  top,  ornamental  binding,  $3.50. 


.  .  The  text  of  the  papers  describing  the  Fine  Art  Schools,  public  ateliers, 
private  studios,  cafes,  cabarets,  and  dance-halls  frequented  by  Parisian  students 
appears  to  have  been  written  up  to  M.  Cucuel's  admirable  drawings,  every  one 
of  which  is  instinct  with  frank  fun  or  rollicking  humour." — Daily  Telegraph, 
London. 

"  No  book  with  which  we  are  familiar  gives  so  graphic  or  so  appreciative  a 
sketch  of  this  bohemian  life.  Of  the  illustrations  too  much  cannot  be  said  in 
their  praise.  They  give  the  very  life  of  the  Latin  Quarter." — San  Francisco 
Chronicle,  San  Francisco. 

"  It  is  a  unique  volume  of  its  kind.  It  cannot  fail  to  be  of  interest  to  the 
foreign  tourist  in  the  gay  French  capital  who  had  imagined  that  he  '  knew  it  all,' 
and  yet  felt  that  there  was  something  lacking." — Times,  New  York. 

"  An  inside  view  of  Bohemian  Paris,  its  cafes  and  boulevards,  its  balls  and 
amusements,  its  student  and  artistic  life;  with  pictures  drawn. on  the  spot  and 
depicting  all  the  features  which  have  made  the  Latin  Quarter  and  Montmartre  so 
famous.  There  is  much  described  in  this  book  which  many  of  those  who  have 
visited  Paris  have  never  seen,  and  it  affords  a  complete  guide  for  those  desiring  to 
see  the  Bohemian  quarter  as  it  really  is,  as  well  as  being  one  of  the  most  charm- 
ing books  for  general  reading  recently  published." — Literary  Review,  Boston. 

"  To  an  American  intending  to  depart  to  Paris  to  study,  nothing  can  be  more 
useful  than  this  work.  Mr.  Morrow's  keen  observation  has  not  permitted  a  point 
to  befool  him,  and  he  has  transcribed  the  Bohemian  quarters  with  laudable  per- 
spicuity and  exactness.  His  pen  is  charmingly  aided  by  the  pencil  of  Mr. 
Edouard  Cucuel.  The  artistic  qualities  and  veracity  (a  difficult  combination  ordi- 
narily) endorse  the  prophecy  of  eminence  which  has  been  made  for  him  since  his 
entrance  into  the  Quarter." — Boston  Courier. 

"  '  Bohemian  Paris  of  To-day'  is  so  steeped  in  the  atmosphere  of  that  whereof 
it  treats  that  the  appreciative  reader  (and  who  could  be  otherwise  as  regards  so 
fascinating  a  subject  so  delightfully  handled?)  becomes  almost  a  participator  in 
the  life  and  adventures  described,  and  feels  like  one  returned  from  some  stranger- 
land  when  he  closes  the  book.  Faithful  to  its  title  the  volume  adheres  strictly  to 
the  ways  of  Bohemia  in  the  world's  fairest  city;  but  what  ways  and  how  diverse 
they  are  one  quickly  learns  when  turning  these  pages." — The  Home  Journal, 
New  York. 

"  A  great  many  books  have  been  written  about  the  life  of  the  art  students  in 
Paris,  but  this  book,  it  can  be  said  frankly,  surpasses  all  its  rivals  in  vivacity  and 
fidelity.  The  value  of  this  book  is  that  it  comes  from  the  hand  of  a  man  who 
has  actively  lived  the  life  of  an  art  student  in  Paris.  The  book,  therefore,  is  a 
frank,  matter-of-fact  exhibition  of  student  life  in  Paris  from  the  student's  view- 
point,— the  good  and  the  bad.  Everything  is  related  with  engaging,  charming 
frankness.  "The  studios,  the  balls,  the  cafes,  cabarets,  lodging-houses,  and  dance 
halls  all  are  described  vividly,  with  neither  toning  up  or  toning  down.  The  draw- 
ings with  which  the  book  is  illustrated  are  as  frank  and  yet  charming  as  the  text 
is.  The  combination  of  the  two  is  the  most  fascinating  study  of  Bohemian  Paris 
made  up  to  date." — Boston  Journal. 


J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Marie  Corelli. 


The  Murder  of  Delicia. 

i2mo.     Red  buckram,  ;^i.25. 

"The  story  is  told  with  all  the  vigor  and  command  of  sarcasm  which  are 
peculiar  to  the  author.  It  is  a  most  interesting  story,  and  the  moral  of  it  is  a 
wholesome  one." — Buffalo  Courier. 

"  Her  style  is  so  clear-cut,  keen,  and  incisive,  so  trenchant  and  yet  so  deli- 
cate, so  easily  wielded — so  like  a  javelin,  in  short — that  one  cannot  but  be  fasci- 
nated throughout  the  book." — Phil3.delphia  Record. 

"  A  more  powerful  invective  against  the  reigning  and  popular  society  evils 
has  rarely  been  written,  with  so  fine  a  blending  of  the  elements  of  reproach  and 
condemnation,  rage  and  pity,  sarcasm  and  pathos." — Boston  Courier. 


The  Mighty  Atom. 

i2mo.      Red  buckram,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

"Such  a  book  as  '  The  Mighty  Atom'  can  scarcely  fail  in  accomplishing  a 
vast  amount  of  good.  It  should  be  on  the  shelves  of  every  public  library  in 
England  and  America.  Marie  Corelli  has  many  remarkable  qualities  as  a  writer 
of  fiction.  Her  style  is  singularly  clear  and  alert,  and  she  is  the  most  indepen- 
dent of  thinkers  and  authors  of  fiction;  but  her  principal  gift  is  an  imagination 
which  rises  on  a  bold  and  easy  wing  to  the  highest  heaven  of  invention." — Boston 
Home  Jourtial. 

Vendetta ;   or,  The  story  of  One  Forgotten. 

l2mo.      Buckram,  $1.00. 

"The  story  is  Italian,  the  time  1S84,  and  the  precise  stage  of  the  acts  Naples 
during  tha  last  visitation  of  the  cholera.  A  romance,  but  a  romance  of  reality. 
No  mind  of  man  can  imagine  incidents  so  wonderful,  so  amazing,  as  those  of 
actual  occurrence." — Washington  National  Republican 


ISSUED  IN  THE  LOTOS  LIBRARY. 

Jane. 

i6mo.     Polished  buckram,  75  cents. 

"  It  is  a  sympathetic  tale,  full  of  admirable  contrast  between  the  old-fashioned 
and  the  new." — Washington  Times. 


J.  B.   LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY,   PHILADELPHIA. 


SALONS    COLONIAL 
AND    REPUBLICAN 

With  frontispiece  in  color  and  numerous  reproductions  of 
portraits  and  miniatures  of  men  and  women  prominent  in 
colonial  life  and  in  the  early  days  of  the  Republic. 

By  ANNE   H.  WHARTON, 

Author  of  "  Heirlooms  in  Miniatures." 

Crushed    buckram,    I3.00 ;    half   levant,   $6.00. 


Salons  Colonial  and  Republican  and  Heirlooms 
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"  Miss  Anne  H.  Wharton  has  continued  her  brilliant  studies  of  life  in  the 
early  days  of  the  Republic  in  'Salons  Colonial  and  Republican'  with  the  same 
marked  success  that  characterized  her  previous  volumes.  Extending  the  period 
of  which  she  treated  in  the  previous  volumes,  Miss  Wharton  has  carried  her  stud- 
ies into  the  first  years  of  the  United  States  under  the  Constitution — a  period 
fresh,  striking,  and  majestic, — in  which  the  grande  dames  held  court  and  received 
tribute  from  some  of  the  most  famous  figures  in  American  history.  The  light 
that  is  thrown  upon  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Americans  of  this  period 
will  shine  for  the  first  time  for  many  students  of  American  history.  It  is  difficult 
to  believe,  reading  Miss  Wharton's  pages,  that  she  is  not  painting  pictures  of  life 
in  London,  or  even  in  the  gayer  and  more  brilliant  capital  of  France.  Literature, 
art,  science,  all  met  in  these  salons — beauty  and  culture,  wit,  all  are  gone  now. 
Miss  Wharton's  chapters  are  monuments  to  a  past  which  only  lives  through  her 
skilful  pen.  The  volume  is  handsomely  gotten  up,  with  frontispiece  in  color,  and 
numerous  reproductions  of  portraits  and  miniatures  of  men  and  women  prominent 
in  colonial  life  in  the  early  days  of  the  Republic.  The  volume  includes 'A 
Colonial  Salon,'  '  A  Republican  Drawing-Room,'  '  A  Great  Social  Leader," 
'  Social  Life  in  the  Federal  City,'  '  Literature  and  Art  in  the  Republic,'  '  A  Nine- 
teenth Century  Salon,'  '  A  Ball  and  a  Mystery.'  " — North  American,  Phila. 


J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY,   PHILADELPHIA. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  d||^jtemped  below. 


AUG2 


BNTERLIBRARY 


AUG  8      1967 


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Form  L9-42m-8,'49(B5573)444 


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mPTSRSlTY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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